


But My Dreams, They Aren't As Empty...

by forbloodysummer



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2014-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-17 18:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2319293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forbloodysummer/pseuds/forbloodysummer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike and Tara get closer. Quite a lot closer!</p><p>Don't get too hot and steamy, doubt anything within would be rated more harshly than 12. Ooh, and there's a bit of crossover too.</p><p>Mid-Season 6, follows the canon, it really happened, it's just never referred to on screen for, erm, tax reasons. Although, Tara is wearing a ¾ length black leather trenchcoat in Entropy, when she makes up with Willow. Coincidence?</p><p>This story was my first ever attempt at fan fiction, written in early 2008. Looking back at it I notice it veers between surprisingly good and surprisingly bad, often between sentences. Some of the female POV thoughts in particular are a little cringe-worthy now. But overall, I am very proud of it, especially as a first attempt. If nothing else, I have something to back up the claim that I could write a better human/vampire love story than Stephanie Meyer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1 - My Friend Of Misery

#  **Epilogue**                                              _Immediately after ‘Not Fade Away’_

 

All Hell had broken loose. In a very literal way. Well, more accurately, all Hell had been unleashed upon them, the price of opposing the Senior Partners, and Ilyria had clearly thought it a good idea to respond in kind. Spike didn’t quite know how she had opened up the trans-dimensional rift, and was becoming steadily more certain that he didn’t want to. It always surprised him that he could have such wandering, abstract thoughts in the midst of a fight for his very existence.

 

Nimbly ducking to avoid 10-foot claws trying to slash at him, he ran and dodged and rolled and jumped, attacking anything he could with a broadsword he seemed to have acquired somewhere. All around him, the air was as fire, lightning rent the sky, and blood soaked the ground, making it sodden beneath his New Rock boots. He caught occasional glimpses of Angel or one of the others fighting desperately, and was surprised to realise, as he parried a blow from a Jir demon, that he was glad the great ponce wasn’t dead yet.

 

His sword lashed out in a quick swing above his head, swiftly relieving the Jir of one of its own. He spun and managed to get a kick in, right in its chest, then dived in close to snap its remaining neck. He grunted with pain as he dived left, narrowly avoiding a searing ball of liquid fire. He’d always known she was a bit crazy, but Ilyria must have been sodding mental to think that rift would be a decent plan. He’d been singing about anarchy for years, but he was pretty sure this level of chaos wasn’t quite what those songs had envisioned, and couldn’t help feeling vaguely cheated.

 

It wasn’t just the armies of assorted demons, or the unstable nature of reality in the other dimension, or even the battle violent enough to make him vow to never again use the term ‘bloody hell,’ now he’d seen the real thing. It was the sense that something was wrong with this place, with the things on this side of the rift, something profoundly wrong. He saw impossible things, things he knew could never be, things that made him want to hide and cry like a scared child.

 

And then Angel was there, dragging Spike towards the rift, running for the relative safety of their own dimension with all the strength they had left. He stumbled, and managed a glance back as he scrambled back up. Far off, deep into the fire and lightning and blood, a blue-haired figure was surrounded by a blinding light, with seemingly-endless hordes of demons beyond that.

 

As the rift slowly started to close, Spike realised where they were. And he realised what Ilyria was doing. _If Angel’s already accepted it_ , he thought, _she must really have her heart set on going through with it_. He would miss her, he knew, he had grown fond of the smurf in their time together, a demon trapped among humans, stripped of most of her power, collared, but never tamed. Well that certainly sounded familiar.

 

Spike had never thought she’d be the one to sacrifice herself to save the world, he’d assumed that would be the prancing poofter beside him, not she who belonged here least. But then, that sounded familiar as well. She had lured the armies of the Senior Partners to this dimension, and now she intended to trap them here, and herself with them. Which was why he was sure he knew where they were, not just any alternate dimension, this one. This was the place where things came after they died.

 

He was almost through the rift when he saw _her_. Angel was already on the other side, and the doorway to his world was rapidly closing. But Spike knew he had to go back for her. It wasn’t a conscious choice, something simply clicked into place, and he had known all along what he would choose. The chances of him making it out in time were slim, much less so if he was carrying her, but he would be damned if he would lose her again. Well, he was already damned, but that wasn’t the point.

 

After what seemed an age, but was really a fraction of a second, he reached her, and his hand closed around her wrist. He was surprised that he _wasn’t_ surprised that she was solid, this was something else he had known all along. Pulling Tara in close, he scooped her up in his arms, and dived for the almost-closed rift…

 

 

 

 

 

#  **Chapter 1 – My Friend Of Misery**                                       _Post-‘As You Were’_

 

Walking the streets alone at night scared her. She assumed it scared most people, and she knew she had defensive spells at her disposal if necessary, but all the same. It hadn’t been as bad back home, but in Sunnydale she was all too aware of the things that preyed on the innocent in the night. Ordinarily she would have stayed in, gone to great lengths to avoid being in such a situation, but seeing Willow earlier had considerably shaken her, and she didn’t like sitting in her dorm on her own.

 

She hadn’t known where she was going when she left, and wouldn’t have imagined ending up in a pub, and yet there she found herself, a short while later. She had rarely ever been into pubs before, particularly not the traditional kind, with a bar and a fire in the hearth and ales on tap, but had decided upon glancing inside that it was better than simply going back to her dorm. _Back home_ , she thought, uncomfortably aware that however much she thought of Buffy’s house as her home, and the room she had shared with Willow as being her room, she knew her dorm was all she had now.

 

She was sat at a table in a quiet corner, out of the firelight but not far enough away to not feel the warmth it spread around the room. The light was dim here, and she sat in silence with her lemonade. _Of course I’m sitting in silence, it’s not like I’ve anyone here to talk to_. It slowly dawned on her that a pub like this was a rare find in Sunnydale, it seemed far more European (Irish maybe?) in nature than American. There was no music playing, only the low noise of conversation, punctuated by the crackling fire.

 

Her gaze drifted slowly to the bar, but she didn’t recognise the names of many of the drinks. That was surprising, given her all-too-clear experiences of her father’s drinking. Sure, she recognised the usual suspects like Vladivar Vodka and Jameson Whiskey, and even Guiness, on one of the pumps, but what was Freedom, or Iron Horse, or Harvey’s? Eager to distract herself from her lonely thoughts, she finished the rest of her lemonade and went to the bar, deciding to sample some of the previously-unknown drinks.

 

A couple of pints later, she decided she rather liked the pub, with its warm but quiet atmosphere, and was rather glad she came there that evening. She was feeling happier, and was idly wondering if any of her friends would appreciate it. _But are they really my friends, or do they just see me as an extension of Willow?_ That wasn’t such a pleasant thought, and she hastily got up to get another drink.

 

Standing at the bar, she noticed the pretty barmaid quickly bracing herself before taking a drink over to a figure in another darkened corner. There was a slight strut in her step, and she bent a little too low over the table, clearly allowing the receiver of the drink a view straight down her top. She returned to the bar with a mildly annoyed expression, obviously unsuccessful in her efforts. _She certainly looks pretty enough to me,_ she thought with a glance over to the table the girl had just returned from.

 

She’d always had quite good eyesight, but despite the low light in the corner where he sat, she really didn’t need it. Spike was instantly recognisable, sprawled in an armchair in his black duster and matching leather trousers. He picked up a shot glass from the table in front of him and knocked it back, then leaned back, resting his head on the low back of the chair, running a hand through his hair and staring up at the ceiling. He lacked his usual swagger, and she thought he looked lonely.

 

The last she had heard, he and Buffy were on the verge of self-destruction together, Riley’s brief return a few days ago must have driven them over the edge. She knew how it felt to be in that situation, and couldn’t just walk back to her own seat and ignore him. She remembered how threatened she had felt when Oz had come back to Sunnydale a couple of years ago. She’d liked him, and Willow had since assured her that she’d never have gone back to him, but she’d worried all the same, and felt quite intimidated by him at the time.

 

“Sp-Spike?”

 

She winced inwards as his head snapped forwards and she almost flinched from his piercing blue eyes. She remembered how much he’d scared her when she’d first encountered him, and how she’d slowly gotten used to him. Last summer she’d realised that he had a very sweet side, something that she felt only herself and Dawn noticed. And Buffy, of course. Well, sort of, she doubted ‘sweet’ was quite what Buffy was looking for in him. But however much he had grown on her, he still scared her just a little bit, and she could never relax around him.

 

“Glinda? Didn’t expect to be seeing you in these parts. You alright?”

 

Spike’s brow furrowed lightly, but she couldn’t tell if it was in concern or puzzlement. She smiled at him and nodded, wondering if he was actually at all interested in her state of well-being.

 

“I’ve n-not come in here before,” she said, “I was passing and it looked, uh… I n-noticed the uh, interesting beers.”

 

She saw Spike’s eyebrows climb rapidly when he spotted the drink she was carrying, realising that he had probably only ever seen her drink herbal tea before. What? She _could_ drink alcohol, she did sometimes, she didn’t do it that often but there was nothing to suggest that she didn’t drink at all. Although, from the looks of it, Spike was well ahead of her that evening.

 

“Bloody Hell, girl, what’s that you’re drinking?”

 

“Hobgoblin,” she said, one corner of her mouth rising into a small, lopsided smile. “I thought it sounded, uh, kinda cute.”

 

“Jesus, kids these days…” Spike said, shaking his head in mock despair. He reached across beneath the table with his leg and pushed a chair out towards her. She smiled shyly and muttered thanks, quickly sitting down. Noticing that both their drinks were nearly empty, she saw Spike catching the eye of the barmaid, who soon came over with another drink for him.

 

“And a pint of Iron Horse, for the lady,” Spike told her. It was much more told the barmaid than asked, anyway.

 

That one Tara certainly hadn’t seen coming, and her eyes widened in surprise. She also felt slightly apprehensive, why had he done that? And what if she didn’t like it when it arrived? The barmaid shot her a venomous glare before she left, it must have hurt such a pretty girl to have her advances rejected, only for Spike to buy a drink for someone who didn’t really stand out. She thought of mentioning this, but worried it might sound rude and ungrateful.

 

Spike’s eyes narrowed slightly, and she realised that some of her thoughts must have shown on her face.

 

“Never had a man buy you a drink before?”

 

She blushed slightly and nodded, her eyes downcast. Ok, he was a lot more perceptive than she had given him credit for. She had always known Spike was great with Dawn, those two were closer than most suspected, something she wasn’t certain Buffy would entirely approve of. Well, from the way Spike had taken care of Dawn last summer, he had earned that closeness, as far as Tara was concerned anyway.

 

“Well, ordinarily I wouldn’t oblige,” Spike said with a smile, “but when a lady starts drinking bitter, it gets my attention.”

 

“I-I think the girl over there has been trying to get your attention all evening.”

 

She blushed slightly, but Spike snorted quietly with laughter. He’d found it funny? Sometimes her humour really didn’t come across very well, but she’d actually made him laugh, albeit quietly and briefly. She had certainly never expected that.

 

“Alright, let me rephrase. When a girl starts drinking bitter, it gets my attention. But when a girl starts drinking bitter _alone_ …”

 

Tara nodded, she understood. But what did Spike know about loneliness? He’d spent a century in a happy relationship, or so she had heard. He’d had no shortage of attention since then, either. That was how she had known something was up with him tonight, that he had completely ignored the advances of the pretty barmaid. But if she was right, and he and Buffy had finally fallen apart, she could appreciate why he would take pity on others in the same position. Still, she hadn’t expected it, she would have predicted a more isolationist, ‘leave me alone’-type reaction.

 

There was an uncomfortable silence for a bit, as she nervously fiddled with her skirts in her lap, and Spike gazed idly at nothing in particular, sipping his drink.

 

“Uh, are you ok, Spike? I-I saw you over here, and… just thought I’d… you didn’t look… thought I’d come over.”

 

Spike cocked his head on one side and looked right at her for a long moment, and she nervously smiled and lowered her eyes. When she had first seen him, it was obvious something was up, and he’d try to hide it when she’d come over. Getting him to actually admit to it though would be the tough part.

 

“Me? Same as ever. Sorry, ‘scuse the nancy boyband gaze into middle distance, just thinking. But yeah, I’m still here. Ha, the world may end but I’ll still be here.”

 

Tara wasn’t certain, but she thought she heard Spike add “Still alone,” under his breath. She realised that the only way to encourage him to open up a little would be to let him know that Buffy had let her in on their secret, but the shock of that might put him on the defensive. She’d have to be careful, but it was worth a try.

 

“I-is it uh, Buffy? I know you two were… s-she told me everything.”

 

She didn’t think she’d ever seen Spike so surprised. He froze, even his breathing stopping, and his eyebrows climbed his forehead as high as they possibly could. There were several moments of very uncomfortable silence.

 

“Well,” he said at last, “talk about giving a guy mixed bloody signals. She makes it public knowledge, but then ends it.”

 

Tara shook her head rapidly and explained.

 

“No, s-sorry, I’m the only one that… she only told me.”

 

But Spike had confirmed it, Buffy had finished with him, and from the sound of it, permanently. He looked slightly unkempt, now she studied him a bit more closely, and she didn’t think he could have managed that in one night. _So she must have broken up with him two or three days ago, and he’s been drinking and feeling sorry for himself ever since_. She couldn’t blame him, she knew how much Buffy had meant to him, and knew how them getting closer had only really made it worse for him.

 

She remembered the first time they had encountered the Buffybot, had mistaken it for the real thing and believed that Buffy and Spike were sleeping together. And how ridiculous it had seemed back then. She recalled how she’d greeted the news with declaring Buffy to be ‘nuts.’ And she hadn’t been too far wrong. She understood why Buffy had done it, well, she thought she did, but it was never going to end happily, she must have known that. And though Buffy had emerged from that relationship, if that was even the right word, a feeling little better off, it had left Spike all the worse. And she didn’t think he deserved that.

 

Spike nodded slowly in understanding. His lips twisted into a wry, self-pitying smile, and he took a long drink of his pint. And in that moment she felt so sorry for him, not because of the pain, but more because he was so accepting of it. It was as if that was the way he expected it to be, as if he knew no different.

 

“Well it’s over now,” he said, “and here I am.”

 

She watched him descend into silence again, while she tried to think of what to say. Nothing good really came to mind, and she sipped her pint and avoided his eyes in the meantime. She wished she had his strength though, his ability to get knocked down and beaten up, and still go on as he always had done. _Still here_ , as he had put it. Although, in fairness, his everyday business involved drinking and fighting, and that was about it, as far as she knew.

 

“You know,” he said with a snort and a small smile, “the last time this happened, I tied up and tortured the girl in question. Yet here I am now, just drinking myself into unconsciousness. Think I must be going soft.”

 

Tara knew the look on her face was somewhere between surprise and disbelief. _He tortured her?!_ She had never known Spike without his chip, and had heard numerous tales of how nasty he had been, but she still found it hard to believe that someone so protective of Dawn had once done such horrible things to girls just like her.

 

Spike must have seen her expression, because he shrugged and offered his brief explanation, “Love’s a funny thing.”

 

She decided not to pursue that any further. She thought it was probably a good thing he hadn’t tried to torture Buffy, as he might have died in the process. Well, died again. She wondered how deep Buffy’s feelings for him went, if she actually would stake him or not. As things were at the moment, she might even enjoy him trying. _I can’t believe I just thought that!_ _She came back rather different, but surely not_ that _strange._

 

Setting his drink down on the table in front of him, Spike looked up at her again. He took a deep breath, and then spoke rather apprehensively.

 

“How are things with Red?”

 

A wealth of images and emotions hit her, and all the things she had been trying to ignore came flooding back. She felt her breath catch, and desperately hoped she was past the point of her eyes welling up. That had happened every time she’d thought of Willow for the first few days they’d been apart, but she was doing much better now. It had been tough seeing her today, brought back lots of memories.

 

Tara was quite proud of herself for taking charge and ending things with Willow, well, she would have been, if only it hadn’t left her feeling so very miserable. She hoped that one day they could get back together, but wouldn’t let that happen until Willow was back in control of her magic. Tara had made her choice, and woke every morning wishing herself to be strong enough to stick with it.

 

She was still sitting there, thinking about Willow, about what the future held for them, when she realised that Spike was watching her. _Why’s he…? Oh, right!_ She had completely forgotten he had asked her the question that had lead to those thoughts in the first place. She had also forgotten that he almost sounded nervous when he asked, as if her were afraid to bring up the subject.

 

“I don’t re-really know,” she said, realising it to be the truth. “I saw her today, she seemed a lot better. I just hope she doesn’t…”

 

Spike smiled sympathetically, and gently nodded. There was something comforting in his blue-eyed gaze. Another thing she’d never have expected.

 

“Well, she’d have to be bleeding mad to mess things up with you, love.”

 

“That didn’t stop her last time.”

 

Spike paused, and pursed his lips, frowning slightly. But his eyes didn’t leave hers, and she couldn’t help wondering what he was thinking.

 

“No,” he said after a short while, “and I don’t have a smart answer for that. But I could try torturing her, if you’d like.”

 

And then his smile was back, and she laughed in spite of herself.

 

“I don’t think that would be wise,” she said, the corners of her mouth being drawing upwards into a slightly lopsided smile. “She might turn you into a toad.”

 

Spike grinned back. “Ok, on second thoughts, you do the torturing, I’ll direct by phone. Do I have to be wary of toad transfiguration from you too?”

 

“Were you planning on torturing me?”

 

Spike grinned again, and this time there was a wicked glint in his eye. He took a long swig of his pint, finishing it off, and she followed suit. It had been so long since she had laughed or smiled, she couldn’t remember offhand smiling since Willow. She hadn’t expected that from… Well, Spike had been so unpredictable this evening that maybe she’d been completely wrong about him from the start.

 

She then tried to pin down what she had thought of him previously. She had never been one of the firm believers that Spike was evil, in fact she had rarely known him to do anything particularly malicious. He always came through in a crisis, which seemed to be every other week in Sunnydale, and though he constantly argued with Xander, they could sometimes be rather funny together. He had slowly become an integral part of the group, in her eyes, but she thought that most of the others did not see this. Was it really the lack of a soul that caused such division? Anya was accepted with little hesitation, yet they dragged their heels in against Spike at every opportunity.

 

He signalled to the barmaid again, and then repeated his gesture to her more emphatically. Tara could only imagine the girl’s expression over her shoulder. And yet she seemed to be coming over anyway, unable to resist a pretty face. _Am I like that?_ Would it only be a matter of time before she gave in and stopped resisting Willow, despite knowing that it was the wrong thing to do?

 

Wait a minute, Spike, a pretty face? Where had that thought come from? She supposed he was rather striking, the shining white hair, the midnight black coat, and the haunting blue eyes, but she was sure she’d never thought of him as ‘pretty’ before. In fact, that wasn’t a word she had ever used to describe a man. It seemed more sensible to associate him with the term ‘handsome,’ and yet, while he was indeed quite handsome, in a dark, rebellious way, Spike was also probably closest to ‘pretty,’ of all the men she knew. Hold on…

 

“Transfiguration?”

 

Spike shifted slightly in his seat and tried to look innocent. She saw straight through it, and, for the first time, she knew exactly what he was thinking, and it gave her the upper hand. Not that she considered their conversation to be a struggle for dominance, but it was nice to have the tables reversed, even briefly.

 

“What? It’s a word,” he said defensively, “means changing something into something else.” His eyes, for once, were anywhere but on her.

 

“Yeah, it’s a word,” she replied. “An accurate term, but only a modern one, and I know exactly where it originates from. Spike, have you been reading Harry Potter?”

 

“...No…”

 

She raised her eyebrows at him sceptically.

 

“…Well maybe.”

 

He shrugged his coat around him defensively, drawing back a bit into the shadows. “Look,” he said in explanation, “it’s not like I work during the day, got lots of free time. Passions was cancelled for a fortnight ‘cause of snooker, bloody wankers, and Dawn had left the first book in my crypt at some point…”

 

Tara nodded, smiling. He’d fallen for it, just like every other poor sucker to have had a moment of weakness and read the first page. And then not been able to put it down until he’d finished the series so far.

 

“Don’t tell the Niblet,” he said firmly, and she laughed again.

 

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

 

*

 

They had stayed for hours, in the end. They had kept drinking, laughing and smiling together, and had talked about things they wouldn’t usually have revealed, certainly not to each other. They hadn’t noticed the time passing, and had only been brought back to reality when the landlord had rung the bell for last orders. They had stumbled out of the pub, and Spike had insisted on walking her home, overruling her protests with concerns for her safety, of what might happen this late to a girl in Sunnydale walking home alone. And in her state, too. _He might have had a point there._

 

She seemed to remember them singing together while walking, _to show all the beasties out there that we’re not afraid_ , Spike had said. And so the neighbourhood had been treated to a stirring midnight rendition of My Way, and Tara had a sneaking suspicion the blond vampire had been singing the original Sinatra version, she thought he had been slightly too close to the right key to be Sid Vicious, much though he had maintained otherwise. Although, Spike had clearly remixed it to add a great deal of cursing when he had tripped over his own coat.

 

They eventually reached her dorm, and stopped outside the door. Her vision was more than slightly blurred, and from the way he was swaying, she guessed Spike to be in a similar state.

 

“Well, this is my room,” she said. He looked the door up and down and nodded his head approvingly.

 

“You gonna be alright?” There was real, genuine concern in his voice, and she thought he wasn’t just referring to how her head would feel in the morning. She nodded in response, smiling to let him know she was really ok.

 

“Are you sure you’re alright walking home in this state?”

 

He snorted with sarcastic amusement, but he also smiled. _I guess it’s not often people care about things like that with him_.

 

“Believe me, love, if I can’t make it home in one piece after a few pints, then I really am going soft.”

 

She knew full well that he’d had far more than ‘a few pints,’ in fact she still found it hard to believe he was still comatose, let alone upright. She knew he was aware of this as well, and combined with his chip, left him far more vulnerable than usual. But she also knew that there would be no convincing him otherwise, so she resigned herself to letting him go his own way.

 

“I had a really good night tonight,” she told him. “I haven’t felt this, um, relaxed for quite a while.”

 

“Me neither,” Spike admitted, “we should get drunk more often.” He turned to go, then stopped and spoke again, his back still mostly to her.

 

“Don’t get too hung up on Red. As I said before, she’d have to be completely bloody crazy to let you get away.”

 

 _Well, we’ll see, won’t we?_ He headed off down the corridor, and she fumbled with her keys and tried to get one to fit in the lock. Spike was about to disappear around the corner when he stopped and looked back at her, catching her eye and calling to her.

 

“And ‘completely bloody crazy’ ain’t your type, pet. It’s mine.”


	2. Chapter 2 - Fear Of The Dark

**Chapter 2 – Fear Of The Dark**                                             _Evening, the next day_

 

A knock came at her door, and she quickly jumped up to answer it. She had been delighted when Dawn had phoned earlier, asking if they could do something that evening, Tara was often so preoccupied with missing Willow that she’d forget how much she missed spending time with Dawn too. And there she was now, standing in the doorway beaming with glee, immortal energy being of incredible power, in the form of a 15-year old girl.

 

“Hey Dawnie,” she said, stepping back to let her in.

 

“Hey.”

 

Dawn rushed inside, dressed in a deep blue top and white trousers, with her school bag on her back. She had her hair down, and as she ran a hand through it, Tara noticed the shimmering rainbow of colours.

 

“Good God, your nails are colourful!”

 

Dawn grinned again, hardly able to contain her excitement.

 

“I know, like, I couldn’t decide what colour to paint them, so I tried them all, and was like, well, why not? And then, oh my God, Scott, this guy in my class who’s like, totally hot, he said they looked nice and smiled right at me, and…”

 

 _Teenagers!_ An inward groan accompanied that thought, but a very affectionate one. She really had missed Dawn, when that girl was happy it was infectious, and it brightened up everyones’ day. Tara rolled her eyes fondly and went to put the kettle on, inviting Dawn to put her stuff down and make herself at home.

 

“So I brought over my school bag,” she said, “I thought I could do my homework here one or two nights a week, and we could like, make a regular thing of it, since you’re not, you know, around at home anymore.”

 

A sudden warmth rushed through Tara, and she felt a very close fondness for the young girl across the room from her.

 

“That would be lovely, Dawn. I don’t seem to have many visitors these days. Is Buffy ok with that?”

 

Dawn nodded, still smiling, sitting down at the table. _Buffy’s probably grateful for a night without having to worry about dinner. And Dawn for a night without the Doublemeat Palace’s finest._ It was a shame that things were that way at the Summers house, they all deserved better than that. But she couldn’t do much to change it, so the least she could do was make sure Dawn was well fed at least once a week.

 

The kettle clicked to signal its job done, and Tara poured the tea as Dawn pulled out her homework.

 

“So what’ve we got tonight then?”

 

“Math, English, and History. I kinda get the math bits.”

 

“Ok, well we’ll start with that then. Are you sure about the sugar, sweetie?”

 

Tara sighed dramatically as the girl nodded in assent, and counted out seven teaspoons of sugar into Dawn’s tea. She noticed she was running low, she’d have to pick another packet up on the next trip to the shops. She took both teacups over to the table, and sat down beside Dawn.

 

Within fifteen minutes the homework had been set aside in favour of idle conversation. Tara wasn’t quite sure how the young girl always managed to do that, but she seemed to be unnaturally good at it. They had started with her trousers, moved onto several of the boys in her class, and arrived at how Tara was coping, via how Buffy was never home these days.

 

“Yeah I’m ok, been keeping busy,” she responded with a slight shrug. And it was true, she did feel better today, drinking with Spike last night let her release a lot of tension, and she felt far less stressed today. Admittedly, she had not felt better first thing this morning, quite the opposite in fact, but that had worn off by early afternoon.

 

She hoped he’d be feeling better today as well, he certainly seemed to have cheered up by the end of the night, but she didn’t know if it would have lasted. She’d go ‘round to his crypt in a day or so to check he was alright. She was a little apprehensive about doing that, but thought it was worth a try, as he might be glad for the company. _Alternatively, he might not be_. She had thought about it during the day, after her head had stopped aching quite so much, and had realised that after getting to know Spike a little better, he was even more of an enigma than before.

 

And yet, he had opened up enough that she knew he was not in a very good way, and she couldn’t just turn her back on that. And though it might be awkward, she would much rather face that than see Willow. _Now that’s how you know things are bad – when you’d rather walk into a vampire’s crypt than face your ex._ She frowned slightly, and realised that actually that choice wasn’t too far from normal.

 

Noticing that Dawn was studying her, she put on a mock frown.

 

“Now, what would Buffy say if you said you’d come over here to do homework, and then didn’t do any?”

 

Dawn started to protest, but Tara smiled and held up a hand.

 

“You carry on with that, sweetie, and I’ll start work on dinner.”

 

Tara was surprised at how amicably Dawn quietly soldiered on with her work. She set about chopping vegetables and getting the saucepans out, humming quietly to herself.

 

Dinner was almost prepared when Dawn started making noises of frustration at her textbook. Tara glanced over and saw the math was finished, and the English book was open on the table. She smiled encouragingly, turning back to the nearly-ready oven dish, and reaching up to the food cupboard. She took out a packet, froze when she reached into it and discovered it was empty.

 

“Ah, Dawnie, might have a slight problem here…”

 

“I know, Rupert Brooke sooo had a deathwish.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Stupid stuff we’ve gotta do for English homework.”

 

Tara breathed a quiet sigh of relief. She hadn’t recognised the name Dawn mentioned, but deathwishes were rarely good news. Surely it couldn’t be that harmful, if they were studying it in class. Although, various bits of Macbeth sprang to mind… Still, it did nothing to resolve her own dilemma.

 

“Are you alright on your own for a bit, honey?”

 

Dawn looked up at her expectantly, clearly wondering where Tara was going.

 

“Sorry,” she said with a slight grimace at herself, “I’m all out of sheet pasta. I completely forgot to get some, and I can’t really make vegetable lasagne without it.”

 

Dawn smiled and nodded back at her in understanding.

 

“Mind if I tag along? I’m not getting anywhere with this, it’s old and a little weird.”

 

“I’m not sure,” she said apprehensively, “my car’s in for servicing, so I’ll be walking… Sunnydale can be a nasty place at night, and I wouldn’t want you to get… would Buffy let you do that?”

 

Dawn gave her the almost-patented ‘are you done yet?’ look usually reserved for her sister’s lectures.

 

“It’s just as dangerous for you to go,” came Dawn’s response, sounding patient, “and the shops aren’t far. Besides,” she added with a grin, “if something attacks us, you can totally zap its ass.”

 

Rolling her eyes skyward and shaking her head slightly in light hearted despair and resignation, Tara took her coat down from the hanger on the back of the door. She hadn’t put it on in ages, but it would be cold outside, and she fancied wearing it again. Dawn hopped down from her chair, pulling on her own coat, clearly quite satisfied with getting her own way.

 

The shopping trip had been short and functional, they had found what they were after, paid for it and left, with few distractions on the way. _Maybe Dawn was a little more apprehensive about walking around Sunnydale after dark than she let on. Well, that’s probably for the best, and should mean a longer life expectancy_.

 

They were on their way back now, shopping bags in hand, looking about them warily as they walked. Just as they passed out of the light of the last street lamp, down the path that lead to her dorm on campus, something leaped out of the shadows at them with a roar.

 

She jumped back in surprise, and gladly saw that Dawn had done the same. The thing circled them slowly, growling in its throat. It wasn’t a vampire, she was sure of that, and it seemed to have small horns and scaly skin. They both leaped aside as it lunged at them again, and Tara began the quick incantation and flung the spell at the creature. To her dismay, nothing happened.

 

She tried again, as quickly as she could, but found her magic completely out of reach. Still circling them, the creature growled louder, and then leapt forwards at Dawn. Tara dived and pushed the young girl out of its way, taking its impact squarely in her chest. She hit the ground and felt herself losing conciousness. Her mind screamed out to keep Dawn safe, but was lost when her vision went dark.

 

*

 

“Come on love, time to wake up.”

 

The voice was calm and reassuring, and she wondered what classes she had that morning. And then she noticed that the voice was male, and it didn’t feel like morning. More than just a man’s voice… that was Spike’s voice! And she wasn’t lying in her bed, it felt more like a thick blanket over a very hard, cold floor. Very slowly she tried to open her eyes.

 

Spike’s face was looking down on her, his eyes seemed caring. He was bent over, but standing up, which meant she couldn’t be on the floor. Noticing the stone ceiling, she thought she must be lying on top of the coffin in the middle of his crypt. A very interesting, indeed bizarre, place to be, how on Earth did she…?

 

“Dawn!”

 

Bolting upright as she shouted, Tara’s eyes snapped wide open. As soon as her back became vertical, she slammed back down again, a massive pain coming from her chest. Spike swept in to restrain her with his hands on her shoulders, preventing her from causing herself any more pain. Her chest still hurt though.

 

“It’s alright, pet, she’s fine, she’s right here,” he said softly, “but she’s asleep at the moment.”

 

Tara sighed deeply, relief running instantly though her, and sagged back against the stone slightly. Spike, convinced she was relaxed enough not to hurt herself, removed his hands from her shoulders, and they found their way to his pockets. He was, she noticed, wearing his long coat. _Even indoors, in his own home?!_

 

“Wh-what happened? It all went dark… I don’t remember.”

 

Spike took a deep breath and looked down at her, before speaking in a voice tinged with anger, but suppressed. She closed her eyes again, resting them as he talked.

 

“You and ‘Bit were attacked, on the way back to your dorm. From what she said, it was a human-sized demon with big claws, it charged at her, you jumped in front of it and the impact knocked you out, hence it all going dark. She said it then went into a fit, like it was in pain, and ran off into the bushes. She dragged you here, the cemetery being much closer than Rovello Drive.”

 

 _That’s probably the most I’ve ever heard him say in one go_ , she thought idly. Ok, so Dawn was safe, that was the most important thing. As for what that thing had been…

 

“Why would it run off like that? It charged straight at Dawn, clearly meant to hurt her, so why did it just leave?”

 

Spike pursed his lips, frowning down at her slightly.

 

“Well now, I have a theory about that.”

 

He paused for a few seconds, and then a few seconds more. Eventually she realised he wasn’t going to continue, and pressed him for it.

 

“…And that theory is?”

 

He grimaced at her.

 

“It was chipped. The Initiative kept lots of demons in that place. I doubt I was the only one that survived, or the only working example left of their miracle cures for evil feeding habits. It was chipped and not smart enough to realise it.”

 

His voice had by now taken on a very bitter twist. He was clearly still very angry with them, and she really couldn’t blame him. To have your free will completely slashed like that, for whatever reason, that had to hurt.

 

She couldn’t quite work out Spike’s mood. He seemed very tense, and there was anger there, but she had no idea if it was directed at the demon, or the initiative, or herself for putting Dawn in danger. She also couldn’t be sure if he hated or pitied the chipped demon.

 

“I couldn’t fight it,” she confessed, noticing that she sounded puzzled and rather helpless at the same time. “I tried to hold it off with a spell, but couldn’t do it. I could feel the magic, but not reach it.”

 

Spike nodded slightly, biting his lip a little, as if struggling to decide how to phrase his reply. She noticed a slight shrug of his shoulders just before he spoke, accepting to himself that whatever he had to say would come out badly.

 

“Some demons can do that. Not many, but a few. Unlikely that was one of them though, they’re usually pretty big, nasty things.”

 

He hadn’t answered her question, and it was obvious he was still holding something back. She raised her eyebrow slightly and leaned forwards a little, signalling him to continue. He sighed, still hesitating, then spoke quietly.

 

“You couldn’t do magic because there was still alcohol in your system from the night before, love. Because I got you drunk.”

 

He turned away, leaving her to feel confused.

 

“Huh?”

 

He leaned back against the edge of the coffin, level with her waist, folding his arms in front of him.

 

“A bad combination, magic and alcohol. A recipe for monumental cockups. And after enough of those, someone decided to limit its usage in this world, a long time ago.”

 

“They changed the nature of magic to reject alcohol?”

 

“Hardly. They changed alcohol to reject magic. ‘S a sodding neutralising agent, it completely cuts you off from the power source.”

 

Tara let out a long breath, and was silent for a few moments. That would certainly explain a lot. She had been irresponsible, letting herself go, and now she had paid for it. That wasn’t the half of it though. If not for a strange twist of fate, Dawn would have paid for it, and Tara knew that she would never be able to forgive herself if something happened to the girl. _Various others would never forgive me either_ , she noted, thinking of Buffy.

 

She was just as bad as Willow, allowing herself to get carried away and put others in danger. Buffy would probably stop Dawn from coming to visit her when she found out, and rightly so.

 

“H-how do you know that?”

 

Spike turned his head to look at her, his expression somewhere between a grin and another grimace.

 

“From a very disappointed, angry and now deceased warlock, back in the ‘50s. He tried to stop me, and luckily for me, couldn’t. Thought it was a trap, so I made him explain. I can be bloody persuasive from time to time.”

 

She was silent for a while, and Spike wandered off in the direction of the kettle.

 

“I’ll put the tea on for you and then carry Niblet home, before it gets too late and her sis’ comes out looking for blood.”

 

He was as good as his word, she was delighted and surprised to learn. And he made an excellent cup of tea as well. There was something very unsettling about the sight of him heading out of his crypt with Dawn in his arms, and yet the tenderness with which he held her was difficult to miss. She knew that no harm would come to Dawn with Spike around. She did wonder how he’d explain it to Buffy though.

 

And now she was alone in a crypt, lying atop a coffin. It wasn’t everyday she could say that, she supposed, but she decided she would try to at least move to the sofa as soon as she felt up to it. The pain in her chest seemed reduced now, but not quite enough to move yet.

 

As she sipped her tea, she wondered about Spike. What was it that caused the others to keep seeing him as an enemy? _Well, he tried to kill them. A lot._ This was true, but so had Angel, and Buffy had been quick enough to forgive him. Sure, he had a soul, and was clearly remorseful, and got sent to Hell in the process, but... actually, that did make quite a bit of difference. But then, Anya had also tried to kill them all. And, so she had heard, succeeded.

 

Now that was a strange story indeed, having been told to her by her ex-lover, who in turn was told by her vampire alternate-universe counterpart. Was Willow really her _ex_ -lover now? They were on a break, so she supposed technically yes, she was, as a break could turn out to be permanent. But she honestly had no idea how long this break would last. They could be back together next week, or they could never see each other again.

 

And the worst part of it was the uncertainty of it all. At first, it had depended on Willow, and the choice had been hers. Sure, Tara could have stayed with her in spite of the magic overusage and the memory-altering thing, but that was never a serious option. How could she have stayed and put up with that? Just thinking about it now still made her fists clench in anger. _How could she have done that?_

 

But it also brought up uncertainty, as usual. Was she really that bad the way she was? She liked to think she tried her hardest to be kind to people and to be a good friend, was she not doing well enough? Was that not enough for Willow? Who, if Tara was brutally honest, was not quite perfect herself. Addicted to magic or not, dragging a teenage girl along with you to a supernatural drug den was not something good people did.

 

She was getting sidetracked, and tried to return to her earlier train of thought. She wasn’t sure that Willow could pull through and get off the magic, but that wasn’t all. More recently, Tara wasn’t sure what she herself wanted. What was her ideal ending? It used to be that Willow would get over her problems, and they would live happily ever after together. Well, as happily as was possible living on a Hellmouth, anyway. But now, she wasn’t certain that was what she really hoped for. It hadn’t felt nice, knowing that their fate was all in Willow’s hands, and whether she could beat her addiction or not, and Tara was powerless to swing it either way, but this uncertainty and indecision was perhaps even worse.

 

She took in a deep breath and screwed her eyes up tightly, then let it slowly out and opened them again, starting to gradually sit up and swing her legs off the side of the coffin onto the floor. There was still pain, and she clenched her teeth together, slowly pushing herself to her feet. She made her way slowly across the room and stumbled down onto Spike’s sofa in front of the television. _Oops, forgot the teacup!_

 

After having spent a few minutes recovering her strength, then going on a mission to recover her still half-full cup, she was back on the sofa again, left to her thoughts.

 

She was still swimming in random contemplation when the door burst open, and she jerked upright in surprise, then clutched her chest in pain. It was not as bad as she had anticipated, there was only minor bruising left, but it was still enough to shock her when not expecting it. Spike walked in, pulling his coat off and flinging it onto the chair next to her.

 

“Why do you always wear that duster?”

 

Spike looked at her, surprised at her question. She wondered if he expected her to still be here by the time he got back. She knew he had acted like it, but imagined Buffy wasn’t really the sort to stick around.

 

“’S called a trenchcoat, pet, a duster is much lighter and thinner.”

 

He had obviously avoided her question, but in that case it was one he clearly didn’t want to answer, and that was his prerogative. He looked glad to see her though, in spite of his rather dismissive tone, and he slumped down next to her on the sofa, reaching for the remote control.

 

After flicking on the TV, channel hopping for several minutes, and finally accepting that there was nothing on, he turned to her.

 

“Y’alright?”

 

There were several levels on which that question was meant, she was sure of it, but it was touching that he was concerned, all the same. Although, she was sort of in _his_ crypt, so she felt he would have asked even if he wanted her to leave. And that was when she realised, sitting there in quite a state, after sundown with a chipped vampire, ludicrous though it seemed, that she did not want to leave, she liked it here.

 

Still, Spike’s question needed answering, and she nodded earnestly. She wondered what he thought of the whole matter. He had been controlled enough earlier, but seemed to be unsure of how to act at the moment. _I guess it’s been a while since he had female company, well, any company, of the social variety_.

 

“I wanted to say thanks, for looking after me tonight, and for giving Dawn and I shelter. You didn’t have to do that but you did, and I’m very grateful.”

 

Spike shrugged his shoulders, his head turning back to face the now-off television.

  
“What was I gonna do, leave you there? You were unconscious, and ‘Bit wasn’t in a good way, didn’t have much choice.”

 

“Yes you did. You could have turned us away and let us fend for ourselves.”

 

 _And, in spite of everything you’ve done to prove otherwise, that’s what Willow, Buffy and co. would expect you to do._ But Spike had a point. He had let them in, and given them shelter, let Dawn sleep, and then carried her home safe and sound. While Tara thought of this as something most good folk should do, she had to remind herself that Spike was not traditional ‘good folk’ material. In fact, his performance this evening went against everything the textbooks had to say about vampire behaviour.

 

Spike shrugged again, avoiding her eyes, and she suspected that he would be blushing if he had the blood to do so. Accepting compliments really was not one of Spike’s strong points. Maybe they really did have more in common than she had once assumed.

 

“Erm,” she began nervously, “w-what did you say to Buffy?”

 

It was as the last word left her tongue that she realised Spike might not have wanted to see Buffy, given the tension between them. _I went all that time when he was out, and not once did I think of that!_ She cursed herself, how could she have been so self-absorbed? She had put him in a very uncomfortable position, and that was seriously inconsiderate of her.

 

“Told her the truth. Random vamp got the jump on you two and overwhelmed you, I showed up and kicked its sorry arse.”

 

She arched an eyebrow at him and smiled, and he rolled his eyes and shrugged a little, giving her a comically defensive ‘what?’ expression. She burst out laughing, and he soon joined her.

 

“Did she buy it?”

 

“Think so. Hard to tell these days.”

 

Spike went quiet, but she felt she should ask, just to make sure nothing terrible had happened between them.

 

“And… how was it, seeing her?”

 

He paused before replying, his shoulders visibly tensing. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, seeming to discard what he was going to say.

 

“I don’t know. Sad, that’s the best I can manage. We could’ve had it all, y’know?”

 

He slowly slumped back in his chair, lying his head back, staring at the ceiling. She watched and kept quiet, unwilling to interrupt in case he added anything more.

 

“I’d cross the universe to be right where you are,” he whispered to himself, “But I’m right in your back yard… and I might as well be on Mars.”

 

Tara leaned back into the seat beside him, joining him in his study of the ceiling. She recognised his quotation, but hadn’t thought of it quite like that before.

 

“Alice Cooper makes an interesting voice of wisdom,” she told him, uncertain of what else to say.

 

“He frequently does,” he replied idly, before turning to her sharply, his eyes widening slightly in surprise, “and I _never_ expected you to know that,” he added as a slow smile spread across his face.

 

“Oh, everyone knows Alice,” she said fondly.

 

“No, everyone knows one song, and I couldn’t have quoted that, it’d need quite a special occasion.”

 

“And it’d be completely irrelevant.”

 

“That too,” he admitted. “All the same, wouldn’t have put you down as a fan.”

 

“Well, I guess I’m full of surprises,” she said with a shy grin. He continued to look astounded, smiling as his eyebrows struggled to climb higher, so she decided to be open with him.

 

“Ok, so I heard the name and thought it’d be a girl band, by the time I realised otherwise I’d already paid for it, so I figured I may as well listen to it, and I kinda got hooked. I haven’t listened to it in years though.”

 

Spike nodded fondly, a gentle smile on his face. She let the subject drop, but she had a feeling it would come up sometime later. _Later…ah._

 

“I should get going,” she said, “I’m sure you’ve got things you’d much rather be doing.”

 

She slowly stood up, smoothing her skirts, locating her bag, and returning the teacup to the table. Spike looked up at her but said nothing, his mouth slightly open, appearing thoughtful but distant.

 

“Thank you again for taking me in,” she told him, “I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.”

 

She headed for the door, and had it half open by the time Spike’s voice came from the room behind her.

 

“Tara, love,” he said hesitantly, and she turned back to face him. He was standing up in front of the sofa, his hands in his trouser pockets, facing her almost sideways-on. He looked unsure of himself, and his voice had a nervous edge she hadn’t heard before.

 

“You can stay if you like,” he said, shuffling his feet a little, “I’d like it if you, I mean, uh, think I’ve got a few old Cooper albums floating around downstairs somewhere, if you’re interested…”

 

She thought she’d really like that, but she’d already taken up enough of his time uninvited over the last couple of days, and surely he was just offering that so she didn’t feel unwanted. _Ha, or maybe he just wants me to cook him dinner!_ Which was still sweet, but...

 

“Uh, I don’t want to get in the way or anything…”

 

“I’ll make curry,” he offered with a hopeful smile, and she beamed at him in response.


	3. Chapter 3 - Tequila Sunrise

**Chapter 3 – Tequila Sunrise**                                                 _The following morning_

 

Draco Malfoy admired himself in the mirror. His hair looked so much cooler since he had cut that stupid fringe and spiked it back. He slipped into his heavy black formal robe and checked himself over once more. _I wonder how I’d look in tweed…_ He shook his head a little, clearing his bizarre mental picture, and left the room.

 

He headed down to the Great Hall, that mindless bint Pansy Parkinson on his arm, who was also Harmony. The Clash were playing, except the guitarist was that bloke who used to go out with Willow. Draco ditched Harmony and jumped straight into the pit.

 

When the band finally stopped, finishing their second encore, Draco headed off to find the bar. There was no beer and nothing stronger, only poncy butterbeer or pumpkin juice. Pulling out a flask from inside his robes, he heavily spiked every drink in sight, then tried to down as many of them as he possibly could.

 

It was then that he spotted that magnificent wanker Harry Potter, the Vampire Who Lived, the Boy With A Soul, and Draco swaggered over to him, almost in a straight line. Potter was surrounded, of course, by his pathetic group of worshippers, at the front of which stood bushy-haired Willow and Ron the carpenter. Draco looked around to check no one was watching.

 

“How about trying a real drink?”

 

He leaned in and gave scar boy a glass containing a small amount of pumpkin juice, and a lot of bourbon, something he considered fair because he’d just drank several of the same.

 

Potter took it and sipped it lightly, then he pulled a disgusted face and spat it out. _Ponce_ _!_

 

“Malfoy, what did you put in this, are you trying to poison me?”

 

Hermione took the glass and sniffed it, making a sour face, but not quite as sour as he expected.

 

“It’s mostly bourbon,” she announced.

 

Draco turned to face her, his head cocked on one side.

 

“Now, love, I know you have a reputation for being an annoying know-it-all, but how would you know what bourbon smells like?”

 

Willow coloured, her cheeks growing rapidly pink beneath a mass of curly brown hair, and she dropped her eyes.

 

“Oh,” Draco said with a hollow laugh. Knowing he couldn’t possibly resist, he continued.

 

“Got tired of being alone, waiting for Xander to express some sign of interest, did we? Decided to drown our sorrows in drink? I’d stick to it, pet, you’re more likely to find happiness there than with that great poofter.”

 

Potter was fuming at this point, and had his wand out, pointed at Draco. Idly noticing that Hermione’s ex, Oz, Draco thought, had joined the circle of conversation, _well, more like confrontation_ , he wondered when that had happened, and how he had missed it. The kid now interjected.

 

“Erm, guys, that’s not a wand. That’s a drum stick. Topper threw his into the crowd.”

 

Potter looked annoyed, throwing the stick to one side, and Draco cracked up with laughter. Potter leaned in close, and whispered in Draco’s ear.

 

“At least I’ve got better hair than you.”

 

And then Spike punched Angel, and knocked him out cold.

 

*

 

He had totally laughed. She had blurted the joke out in class, speaking long before she thought, and then there had been an awkward silence. But it had only lasted, like, half a second, and then he had burst out laughing. Miss Davies had kept a close eye on them for the rest of the lesson, so they hadn’t had a chance to talk, but she remembered that laugh.

 

She would have been at his game that lunchtime, but she knew this was, like, something she really should do, and she was sick of being thought of as, like, ungrateful and selfish. And, of course, she didn’t want to come across as too keen, for him to think she was obsessed with him. Which was why she was spending her sunny lunchtime walking through a graveyard.

 

She didn’t know how Spike would react to her showing up at his door, and she worried about it a little. He had been ok last night, but Tara had been hurt, and so obviously the circumstances were fairly tense, and there hadn’t been much time to talk or anything. But she had also been too scared to worry about it last night, too desperate to get Tara to safety and too frightened of anything that might be chasing after them.

 

She was close now, within sight of his crypt. She wondered if he could smell her coming. _What if he’s locked the door?_ Well, at least she would have tried. She’d just have to continue onwards to Tara’s, and hope she’d see Spike around sometime to say thank you. _Although if he has locked the door on me, I’m not sure I still want to_.

 

She reached Spike’s front door, turned the handle, and walked in, not thinking to consider knocking. She had taken a few steps inside before she stopped dead, taking in the sight before her. Her mouth dropped wide open, and for a few seconds, she was completely silent.

 

Spike lay slouched on the sofa in his usual black jeans, but his shirt was nowhere to be seen. His hair was a mess, and his head was back, eyes closed. Tara was sprawled in his lap, her legs up on the sofa beside her. Her skirt was torn, showing most of her legs, and her shirt appeared to be tied around one of Spike’s elbows, red with blood. Most strikingly, Tara was wearing Spike’s leather duster, and it was hanging open at the top, showing just her bra underneath. Her eyes were closed, and amid the chaotic scene, she looked peaceful.

 

Dawn was suddenly very uncertain of what to do. She wanted to scream and pull her hair out, and seriously question her own sanity, but she was afraid of what they’d say if she woke them. _Perhaps I should just leave quietly?_ But then what would happen the next time she saw either one of them? Should she just not mention it at all?

 

Just as she was about to turn to leave, Tara’s eyes opened, slowly, reminding Dawn of a cat. Tara looked her straight in the eye, glanced down at Spike’s legs beneath her, and then gradually sat up, taking care not to disturb him. She pulled the black leather duster closer around her and stood up. She had only taken one step towards Dawn when they both heard Spike muttering softly in his sleep.

 

“…poncy, self-righteous, holier-than-thou Gryffin-bloody-dors…”

 

Dawn almost gasped, but Tara turned to smile fondly at him. She walked around to the back of the sofa, placing a hand on each of his shoulders, and leaned in close as she gently shook him awake. His eyes snapped open, and he looked up into her face, his eyebrow raising questioningly.

 

“Think you were having a nightmare, sweetie,” she told him with a smile, and he nodded slightly.

 

“We sweat and laugh and scream here,” he whispered to her, Dawn struggling to catch the words.

 

“’Cause life is just a dream here,” came Tara’s fond reply, adding “and we have company.”

 

Spike’s head slowly tilted forwards, his eyes finding Dawn, frowning slightly, likely wondering what she was doing there. Then his eyes slowly widened as if in remembering, and he glanced up quickly at Tara, then back to Dawn. He did this several times, and his frown slowly became a sheepish grin. In perfect imitation of the expression she’d seen on him so many times, Dawn arched an eyebrow at him, and he bit his lip slightly, clearly rather apprehensive about what to do next.

 

Finally he seemed to give up, throwing his arms up in the air and sitting up. When he spoke, his voice carried resignation, but was not unfriendly.

 

“Niblet, why are you here?”

 

Dawn hadn’t realised she could be further shocked, but her jaw still managed to drop. _He asks_ me _that?!_ Yes, Tara and Spike were both consenting adults, but… _Could they really have…?_ She couldn’t believe it. It was so unlike them. Well, it was unlike Tara anyway. But kinda unlike Spike too, since he’d been like, totally obsessed with her sister.

 

The vampire’s question still hung in the air, and she dimly struggled to pull her mind back to the answer. She had had it all planned out, what she was going to say, and then she’d walked in on that scene and all her words had suddenly vanished.

 

“I wanted to say thanks. For last night I mean.”

 

Spike’s eyebrow rose, and he leered at her, as she slowly realised what she’d just said.

 

“I didn’t mean… no, not like that!”

 

Spike only continued, then breaking into a broad grin.

 

“Spike!”

 

She exclaimed in frustration, stomping her foot. Tara was laughing openly, but not in a malicious way. Indeed, she was throwing warm smiles at both of them, and then got up and headed over to what could only be called Spike’s kitchen area. But there were pots and pans out over there, looking like they’d actually been _used_ …

 

“Besides,” Dawn added in a lower tone to Spike alone, “it looks like you had quite enough company last night.”

 

Spike shot up out of his seat quicker than she’d have believed possible, shaking his head rapidly, his eyes widening with shock.

 

“’Bit, I would _never_ touch Tara in that way!”

 

Half way through the act of filling up the kettle, most of their conversation hidden by the noise, Tara’s head whipped around to look at Spike, and it could have been Dawn’s imagination, but she was almost sure she saw a stricken look on Tara’s face at hearing those words. It then quickly softened as Spike clarified, but was still faintly visible in her eyes.

 

“She’s wonderful, she’s kind, and I don’t know why I didn’t get to know her sooner. And yes, she’s rather lush. But above all she’s a lady, and ladies don’t sleep with bad guys like me. She’s better than that.”

 

Dawn decided not to let on that Tara had obviously heard all of that, or that she looked very ready to vehemently protest and defend him. Because that would probably make things awkward between her and Spike. And from the looks of it, they could both do with their friendship right now. _Ok, maybe it’s time to leave them to it._

 

“So,” she started hesitantly, “I didn’t get much chance to do homework yesterday, so I’d better be off home to get it finished before next class.”

 

She moved toward the door, but Spike called her back.

 

“Aren’t you meant to be in school?”

 

Turning back to him slowly, she told him it was lunchtime, which was mostly true. It _had_ been lunchtime when she had first left school, but she’d never make it back in time for afternoon class. Sadly it didn’t look like he believed her.

 

Tara intervened then, coming over from the kitchen to be included in the conversation, presumably to stop it from coming to a head.

 

“Why don’t you stay here and do it, like we planned to do last night, before we got distracted?”

 

“You started a homework club?” Spike interjected.

 

Dawn quickly piped up to spare Tara having to give the sentimental answer. Yes, spending that time together meant a lot to both of them, but she didn’t think Spike would understand.

 

“Uh, I don’t have the books I was gonna use,” she told them.

 

Spike rolled his eyes, but Tara nodded understandingly.

 

“It’s ok, Sweetie,” she said, “although, we could get some if you like, the library’s just around the corner from here. Or maybe Spike has some books?” She asked, looking at him enquiringly, but Dawn responded before he had a chance, her voice heavy with sarcasm.

 

“Oh come on, Spike and books?”

 

His eyebrows lifted and his mouth dropped open in a half-mock offended expression.

 

“I have books,” he spluttered in protest, “I have several of them!”

 

Dawn found that very hard to believe, and felt one of her eyebrows climb in challenge. She also noticed Tara smiling to herself, and from the looks of it, trying to stifle a giggle.

 

“Ok, well I’ve gotta write a thousand words on _The Soldier_ and someone called Rupert Brooke, which is totally stupid because it’s, like, ancient, I mean, do you really happen to have any books on that?”

 

“…No,” he admittedly, um, admitted. A triumphant smile covering her face, Dawn nodded in an obviously false display of sympathy.

 

“I’ll catch you guys later, ok?”

 

She waved goodbye to Tara and flashed that smile at Spike again. It wasn’t often she got the upper hand with him, and she certainly intended to rub it in as much as she could, and if she remembered, the next time they met as well. She knew she shouldn’t tease him, not only was it a little harsh on her friend, but also usually a bad move to make a vampire angry. Except Spike was pretty harmless, and he teased her often enough, and she still hadn’t forgiven him for telling her not to come around anymore.

 

She had turned to leave and was almost through the door when she heard Spike’s reply.

 

“Of course, I’d start off by comparing it to Wilfred Owen’s _Dulce Et Decorum Est_ , contrasting the sentiment of the two. Then I’d mention those it inspired, like a poem by Rifleman Donald S. Cox called _To My Mother_. And then I’d finish with the historical details relating to it, like the fact that Brooke died in 1915, and his brother two months later.”

 

The scene hung there, frozen in the air for a few seconds, and Dawn was wishing for anything but to have to turn around and face his smirk. She very slowly turned, half backing into the crypt, her eyes lowered, and she pushed the door to behind her. When she finally did look up, she found to her surprise and immense gratitude that Spike was not sitting there smugly grinning at her, he seemed to have disappeared. Her eyes quickly located him, facing away from her at the worktop in his kitchen area, pouring the tea while Tara fussed around him as only she could.

 

It was she that left the kitchen to come over to Dawn, bringing her a cup of tea. Dawn took it gratefully, but made a face when she tasted it, clearly Spike didn’t own any sugar. Tara mouthed a “sorry” at her, and Dawn blushed. She really ought to be apologising for being clearly rather wrong about Spike, but how was she to know? And if she said she was sorry, wouldn’t that cause a rather awkward atmosphere? Well, it was already rather awkward, but…

 

Dawn didn’t really notice Tara waiting expectantly for a couple of seconds, didn’t take in that she was offering her a window to make some form of apology. After a pause, she let a shallow breath out and shrugged slightly, moving on and starting a new conversation.

 

“How are you feeling after last night, Dawnie?”

 

Dawn’s eyes widened slightly, she had completely forgotten their random demon attack. She mentally kicked herself, it had been Tara who had been hurt, not her, it shouldn’t be Tara asking if _she_ was alright, she should have asked the moment she realised the elder girl was here. _I kinda got distracted, and, woah, it’s not every day you walk into Spike’s crypt to that scene._

 

“I’m fine,” she hurriedly assured the blonde witch, clasping her hands as they sat down on the sofa together.

 

“Are you alright?” she asked in return. She knew she had a concerned look in her eyes, but tried not to let herself get too worried, as she was clearly in good health.

 

Tara nodded and smiled, then started to explain.

 

“I’ll be rather bruised for a few days, but that’s all it was really. It was Spike that took most of the damage, he was losing a lot of blood last night, but he looks mostly unscathed by now.”

 

“Spike? How did he…?” Dawn asked, confused. Spike had been safe in his crypt at the time they were ambushed.

 

“That thing - we never found a name for it, but the demon that attacked you and I – it came back late last night, it must have followed our scent. One moment we were just finishing dinner, next thing we know it bursts in, nearly taking the front door off its hinges.”

 

Dawn gasped, her hands flying to her face, then reaching out for Tara again, as if resting her hands on Tara’s leg reassured her that she was ok.

 

“What did you do?” Dawn asked in a quiet voice, still startled and imagining how scared Tara must have been. Not that Tara couldn’t handle herself, but fear must be an instinctive reaction in that situation, she thought.

 

“I was too surprised to think for a few seconds, before I could gather my wits and consider a spell to stop or contain it, Spike had vaulted the table and leaped at it, tackling it to the floor. They struggled briefly, while I tried to aim a spell clearly and failed completely, and then he broke its neck. Not without it putting some deep gashes into his forearm, though.”

 

Head whipping around to check Spike for injuries, Dawn saw the wounds Tara had mentioned, surprised she hadn’t noticed them previously. Her attention was also drawn to the white tourniquet around the vampire’s elbow, which she had absently recognised earlier as Tara’s shirt, now very bloodstained. _And that’s why she’s wearing his coat,_ she thought, _she used her shirt to bandage him up and wanted something to cover herself up with_.

 

“Don’t worry,” Tara assured her, “the tourniquet stopped most of the blood loss, and the vampire healing is taking care of the rest. In a few days, you wouldn’t believe it had ever happened. I didn’t believe him at first, but they look so much better this morning that he’s got me convinced.”

 

Dawn leaned in close and put her arms around Tara, hugging her and cuddling up to her. She felt Tara’s hand stroking her hair softly, assuring her that everything was ok now, and, snuggling under her arm, her minded absently drifted.

 

She wondered what would happen now. Would things go back to how they once were with Spike and herself? She remembered a time when they would stay up late together, him telling her horror stories from his days as the Scourge of Europe, and she would paint his nails. Would they form their own little family, as they had last summer? Before then, she’d always had a crush on him, from the first time she met him, back when Buffy had been dating Angel. _They were only together for, like, a few months, but even now she’s so not over him_.

 

She remembered when he had swept in with her sister one night, she realised now she should have recognised the hatred in the looks they threw at each other, but at the time she had just been so excited that Buffy had finally ditched Angel and hooked up with someone _hot!_

 

And then Buffy had run away for the summer, and with that to deal with, Spike had vanished from Dawn’s mind. When her sister finally came home, no one knew what was going on with her love life for a while, but Spike had been completely forgotten. She knew now why Buffy had run away, of course, and could understand it, she had had to kill her boyfriend after all, but a little bit of Dawn still held it against her. It hadn’t raised her opinion of Angel at all, either.

 

And then, shortly after Buffy went off to UC Sunnydale, and got together with Riley, the blond vampire was back, still Mr moonlight hair and midnight leather, and she realised she totally had a crush on him. _Moonlight hair and midnight leather? Jeez, I think this poetry stuff is getting to me!_ And then last summer, she came to see that in spite of his nature, on some level he was just as human as the rest of them, and her feelings for him changed again.

 

And looking over at him now, she didn’t quite know what she felt. You could grow used to something looking good if it was always there, but every once in a while something would be faintly altered, like his hair being a mess, or a new set of clothes, or just being on top form, and that slight difference would remind you that it was still attractive. In this case, it was his shirt being off, and he was still gorgeous!

 

“I’m just amazed he let you wear _that_ coat,” Dawn said with a smile.

 

Tara looked down at her and giggled, telling her “Oh, he insisted! Wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

 

“Wow… But he loves that coat! And he never, _never_ , lets anyone else near it!”

 

Still chuckling, Tara sat up beside her, turning to face her again. She glanced quickly over to the kitchen to make sure Spike, still occupied with rummaging through his cupboards in search of something unknown, was not looking their way, and leaned in close to whisper to Dawn.

 

“I think it’s the only thing he had that would fit me. We’re not exactly the same clothes size, and I guess he didn’t want to mention it, so he gave me his duster. His _trenchcoat_ ,” Tara corrected herself.

 

Everyone always seemed to forget how kind Spike could be, often when least expected. He was also far more thoughtful than many gave him credit for. Dawn felt her heart melting a little, and she and Tara shared a smile. Again Dawn became aware of how much she’d missed Tara being around. And now that she’d had a little time to get over the shocking weirdness of it, Tara and Spike getting closer was actually quite sweet. Sort of. But still very weird. Ooh, and her sister’s reaction was going to be priceless!

 

“Well it looks good on you,” she told the blonde witch, who beamed at her in response.

 

“Go on, go get your books out on the table,” Tara said, “and I’ll send him over to help with the poetry stuff.”

 

“How does he know all that?” She couldn’t resist asking as she got to her feet.

 

“No idea, honey,” Tara replied with a shrug, “although, it’s a First World War poem, don’t forget he was alive at the time. Well, kicking, at least.”

 

_Yeah, I guess that must be it_ , she thought as she walked over to the table, dragging her school bag behind her. She sat down and pulled out her books and her pencil case (the cool one with the hunk from that TV show on it), and Spike dropped into the seat next to her.

 

“Right then,” he began, “If I should die… Hmmm, well, bit late for that, but let’s see this poem then.”

 

*

 

An hour and a half later, her stuff was back in her bag, the poetry assignment completed, and she was getting ready to leave Spike’s so she’d make it back to school in time for her lesson.

 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to walk with you?” Tara asked for like, the millionth time.

 

Dawn nodded and smiled, trying to set the girl’s mind at ease.

 

“It’s a short walk, in sunlight the whole way, containing no back alleys, I’ll be fine.”

 

She said it gently, not wanting to hurt Tara’s feelings, knowing she was only concerned. Ordinarily she might not have minded the company, but she was tired of Buffy constantly overprotecting her, she took every opportunity that came up for a chance to do things unsupervised. It was strange that her sister managed to keep her locked up in the face of going out with her friends, or taking care of herself getting home from school, yet, should a banished Hell-Goddess with expensive taste feel like kidnapping her…

 

Ok, not quite fair, her sister had kinda died for her, but that Buffy really didn’t feel like the same girl she now lived with. _Still, don’t have to worry about that, got two hours of wonderful school before I have to deal with that. Lucky me!_ She grimaced as she realised that after just a couple of hours with Spike, the sarcasm thing was infecting her again.

 

She perked up when she remembered that Scott was in her next class, maybe they’d get a chance to talk. Except she now had an A+ grade poetry essay in her bag, what if he thought she was a total nerd? Maybe she could pass it off as a creative way of seeing things or something, it’d be much easier to sound cool and get away with being good at poetry than at maths or something brainier.

 

Although, she’d known Spike for a while now, they’d spent a lot of time together, and, she had thought, shared lots of secrets. Yet he had never mentioned poetry, not once. Sure, he quoted lyrics the whole time, but that was different. Lyrics sounded cool, poetry sounded… don’t know what. She’d never have guessed he’d know a thing about it, but when he revealed that he did, it didn’t seem too out of place. Which made no sense at all, from Spike, whose main hobbies were fighting, drinking, cheating and Hell. Cheating at kitten poker, anyway, she knew he’d stay pretty crazily loyal to a girl, as he had with Drusilla.

 

She hugged Tara, promising to visit her again before next week, and Spike gave her a wave from the kitchen, where he was washing up. Now that was quite a bizarre sight. He hadn’t wanted to, but Tara had started doing it without saying anything, and in spite of all his trying, he hadn’t been able to persuade her that throwing the dirty plates away and stealing new ones was a better idea. And so, muttering about what guests and ladies shouldn’t be doing, in order to stop her washing up, he’d begun doing it himself.

 

She waved back and headed out the door, blinded for a moment by the sunlight as she stepped outside. It had been a really nice lunchtime, she hadn’t expected it to turn out like that when she first walked into Spike’s crypt, but she was glad it had. She still wasn’t quite sure what she ought to say to Buffy, so she decided not to mention it, not for the moment at least.

 

She set off towards Sunnydale High, humming to herself cheerfully. Those two, Spike and Tara, were still a strange pair to be hanging out together. Last summer, when the two of them had been at Rovello Drive most of the time, working to keep herself and Willow sane, she had almost imagined they were a family. Yet since then, the two of them had barely said a word to each other, as far as she knew. And with that, she decided that it was nice that they seemed to be becoming friends again now. If she didn’t know any better, she would have thought it might turn into something more than friendship, but… well, she did know better. _Never gonna happen!_

 

It would be nice to hang out with them more often, and she suddenly realised why. They _laughed_ together. Actual laughter, a sound rarely heard at home these days, what with Buffy spending every waking moment working, and Willow moping a lot. Xander still put on smiles any time he visited, but it wasn’t enough, there was still no laughing, and home wasn’t a happy place without it. But with Spike and Tara, Dawn genuinely had a good time, and that was something to be treasured.

 

It was only as she headed out of the cemetery that she remembered the first thing Spike had said that day, while still asleep, something that had surprised her at the time and then been quickly forgotten. She smiled as she now remembered, beginning to laugh to herself. _And I accused him of having nothing to do with books!_


	4. Chapter 4 - In A Darkened Room

**Chapter 4 – In A Darkened Room               ** _A few days later, post- ‘Hell’s Bells’_

 

“No one knows what it’s like…”

 

She heard the singing when she had almost reached the Bronze, while walking up the approaching street. It was obviously coming from inside, its clear tones carrying faintly through the night time air. There was something very familiar about it.

 

“…to be the bad man…”

 

She reached the door of the venue, the voice still being heard over the low murmur of conversation from a few small groups of people gathered outside, most of them smoking. The smell caught in her nostrils as she wove through the smokers, bringing Spike instantly to mind, and she tried to imagine him singing. She giggled to herself quietly.

 

“…to be the sad man…”

 

She passed through the main entrance, and headed inside. The atmosphere within was dark, with only low ambient lighting and gentle, coloured spotlights on the stage. Tara looked around for people she knew, and, seeing none, headed over to the bar.

 

“…behind blue eyes.”

 

The voice, louder in here, was coming from the stage, which a quick glance showed to hold a lone musician, sitting on a stool lightly plucking an acoustic guitar, a microphone held on a stand before him.

 

“No one knows what it’s like…”

 

She started to lean forwards over the bar to speak quietly to the barman, and then spun back around to face the stage as her mind at last registered what she had seen. She stared at the figure on the stage, her jaw dropping slightly open, and she was sure her eyes were bulging.

 

“…to be hated…”

 

He was up there on the stage, slumped over a big, dark brown acoustic guitar, which seemed to have too many strings. He was wearing black jeans and an unbuttoned dark red shirt, over a tight black t-shirt. His eyes were closed, and there was a sincerity in his face that she wouldn’t have believed possible. His blond hair was gelled back, sharp as ever, still giving him the bad-boy image, but today it seemed to say less ‘killer in the shadows’ and more ‘rock star.’ And that voice…

 

“…to be fated…”

 

That voice carried with it a century of pain, anguish and inner turmoil, yet with a level of purity she thought even the best of choirboys would find challenging. She had heard him sing once before, when they had been drunk, and she couldn’t remember it very clearly, but this was something else entirely. Somehow, Spike singing wasn’t at all funny, like when she had pictured it a few moments before. It was scary, to see that coming from him, but also… something else.

 

“…to telling only lies.”

 

Tara leaned back against the bar on her elbows, distantly trying to sip her drink, her brain still reeling from shock. In that strange state of mind, that one lyric seemed to cut through, to instantly bring up images of when Spike had turned the scoobies against each other, while he was working with Adam, lying and manipulating, masterfully driving them apart. She was now so familiar with the blond vampire that followed Buffy around, and took beatings to protect Dawn, that she rarely remembered how malicious he could be. A slight frown clouded her features.

 

“But my dreams, they aren’t as empty…”

 

His voice rose, gaining strength as he hit the chorus, his head tipping back a bit, eyes still closed. And in that moment, she saw it, as if it were right in front of her: The hope held within him, the goodness she had seen in him since last summer, the kindness in his heart which she had experienced over the last few days, and the love he was so eager to share. And she knew then that he was more than capable of redemption, and she smiled. Spike, she was certain now, was worth saving.

 

“…as my conscience seems to be.”

 

He didn’t seem to think so, as far as she could tell. All that charm and confidence was there on the surface, and it wasn’t a sham, he really was that confident, that sure of himself. And yet, it was only skin-deep. He knew he was good looking, he knew he was a good fighter, and from what she could tell, he knew he was a good lover - in the sense that he would do anything for those he loved, and take any hardship to protect them. _Not_ in the sense that he was a good shag, as he’d phrase it. Although, now she considered it, she found it hard to imagine him lacking confidence in that particular area. More worryingly, she had now considered it, it was quite a struggle to banish the sudden image from her mind.

 

“I have hours, only lonely…”

 

It was a shocking, horrendously unexpected image, much like that of the vampire on the stage, yet not as unpleasant as she once would have thought. _Talk about new territory…_ The last time she had seen Spike, he’d been heading out of the door at the wedding, dragging a nameless girl after him. She hadn’t been able to go after him then, and wasn’t sure if he’d have wanted the company anyway, what with three being a crowd.

 

“…my love is vengeance, that’s never free.”

 

Spike had brought a date to the wedding to make Buffy jealous, she understood that. What she couldn’t quite decide was whether that was to try to cause Buffy pain, or to see if she still cared, or both. She’d tried to comfort him about Buffy as best she could, and advised him to avoid her if possible, just like she herself had been with Willow. _And things with Willow seem to be…evolving…and I still don’t know if that’s good or bad._ The problems might still be there, she didn’t know. But, there was nothing like being saved from angry wedding guests by Willow in that dress.

 

“No one knows what it’s like…”

 

Whatever behaviour Tara had suggested, she hadn’t really expected Spike to go along with simply avoiding Buffy, and holding back when he saw her. It wasn’t that she didn’t think he was capable of such restraint, to take the cautious approach, more that it wasn’t his style – Spike really wasn’t the sort to stand by and do nothing.

 

“…to feel these feelings…”

 

It could have been a lot worse, really. It had hurt Buffy, to be sure, Tara had seen that in her eyes, but hurt was only to be expected after a break up really. If Willow had hooked up with someone else, then, yeah… _it would hurt like Hell,_ she thought bitterly, _no denying that_. Goodness knows how the rebound girl must have felt – Dawn had clearly not held her in high regard, but Tara was sure the girl must have still had feelings, and realised what was going on, why she was there, and that couldn’t have been pleasant for her.

 

“…like I do…”

 

But it wasn’t like Spike had got violent, which she had to admit, forcing herself to remember his nature, was quite remarkable for a vampire, especially with the one person he was physically capable of hitting. And sure, turning up with someone new just to cause envy was the kind of thing people did in high school, not those who’ve been around for over a century, but it had sort of worked, hadn’t it? Not quite the end result Spike had wanted, but it had seemed to help, knowing that Buffy really cared.

 

“…and I blame you.”

 

_When did he write this?_ She hadn’t noticed the guitar in his crypt before, she supposed it had been stashed away downstairs somewhere, and she now had images of him sitting alone on his bed, strumming away and trying to express how he felt. _And doing a pretty good job!_ Back when she had lived with her family, she had, in some dark hour, tried to find comfort by writing all her feelings down, to get it all out there. She hadn’t been able to keep a diary, not one she could be honest in, in case her father had found it, but she had occasionally tried to write songs or poems. Completely unsuccessfully, too.

 

“No one bites back as hard…”

 

_Poems…_ She then remembered how Spike had reacted to Dawn’s homework the other day, a whole new hidden depth that even she, who would like to think she kept an open mind about him, had not previously perceived, and would not believe to have existed. But that familiarity with poetry, and the obvious expertise with which he’d expressed himself in song… _Maybe he wasn’t quite such a tough guy when he was human. Could he really have been a poet?_

 

“…on their anger…”

 

That line was surely a reference to his behaviour since they put the chip in his head, learning to restrain his impulses as a predator, to conform to the social graces of those he would have seen as below him. She wondered if he still thought like that, considering the way he felt about Buffy.

 

“…and none of my pain and woe…”

 

But it was also likely to refer to how he had acted since the two of them had broken things off, particularly at the wedding, and a distinct lack of him trying to torture her, as he had during a certain previous romance. They were true, the words he sang – no one bit back on their anger as hard as he. Any of the other scoobies, when confronted, would likely respond with aggression of some kind, often without considering the consequences. Willow, if she wanted something changed, would simply do it. _Maybe I’m not ready to get back with her, not yet…_

 

“…can show through.”

 

Somehow, he had managed to talk about complete opposites in the same sentence, she thought. Goodness knew how, but he had done it. The mention of anger, that was as she had originally thought, being about keeping his temper in check with Buffy and her friends, but the rest of that line, the pain and woe, well, a different theory was rapidly forming in her mind about that bit. If she was right, about Spike having a more timid nature as a human, then that phrase referred to suppressing all that as the ‘big bad,’ trying not to show emotion to keep up his image.

 

“But my dreams, they aren’t as empty…”

 

Tara became more certain she was correct, he really had been a poet once, or a musician, a tortured artist of some kind. And he felt it still, but hid it behind a near-impenetrable wall of bluster and bravado. _I really doubt he’d appreciate me realising that,_ she thought with a small giggle. Spike would only worry about the dent it would leave in his image, but to Tara, it made him far more beautiful. _Oh dear, dangerous word there!_ But, trying to examine it, she honestly couldn’t deny it – she looked up at him there, saw into his heart, and he really was beautiful.

 

“…as my conscience seems to be.”

 

She knew, technically, that he didn’t have a heart, not one that beat. Or a soul, for that matter. And yet, there he sat, living – no, unliving – proof, with feelings, emotions, hopes and dreams, stronger than she’d ever seen in anyone else. _In anyone human_. She wondered if that meant he had a conscience too, since the song brought it up. Apparently, yes.

 

“I have hours, only lonely…”

 

She had a strange, haunting feeling that she’d heard the song somewhere before, but that was impossible. She’d never heard Spike sing before, well, not properly, and it was unlikely that he’d teach a song that personal to anyone else, not that she could see him teaching _any_ song to anyone else, but certainly not this one. And anyway, from the sound of it, he’d only written it in the last few days, so there was no way she could have heard it. Maybe it was just his voice that gave it that spine-tingling feeling.

 

“…my love is vengeance, that’s never free.”

 

She knew she should go and find him afterwards, not just to see how he was, but also to let him know how much she appreciated the song, and understood what he meant. She wanted to, but the trouble was how to do that without embarrassing him, and causing him to completely close in on himself, hiding behind his protective shell, metaphorically speaking, but literalised with that coat of his and the swagger that came with it.

 

“When my fist clenches, crack it open...”

 

Tara had been gazing off into space, wondering how she could encourage him to open up to her, as she once had about her knowing he and Buffy were sleeping together, but that one line pulled her right back into the moment. _Who was it aimed at?_ As she began to wonder, her gaze returned to the figure on the stage, as if seeking answers there, and abruptly realised she’d found them. His eyes had opened, and they were focused unblinkingly on her.

 

“…before I use it, and lose my cool.”

 

As he finished that line, Spike closed his eyes again, and he seemed to gaze through his eyelids into middle-distance. But for that one moment, that single line, his eyes had found hers, and she was sure she knew why. Not sure as in convinced, but as in certain, somehow she knew it to be true. How he had known she was there, she wasn’t sure – perhaps his vampire sense of smell had identified her presence sometime during the song, or maybe his enhanced hearing had picked out and recognised her voice when she had ordered her drink, and then found her location by her heartbeat. But the reason for his eye contact, she knew – that line, asking someone to hold them back, a plea for help in a moment of weakness – that had been aimed at _her_.

 

“If I smile, tell me some bad news…”

 

And with that certainty, accompanied by the realisation that he clearly thought highly enough of her to talk about her in a song, and _this_ song at that, baring his paradoxical soul, she felt her thoughts drifting, refusing to focus, wandering through memories and images brought to mind as he sang, the music growing in energy and intensity as she threw herself into it...

 

“…before I laugh, and act like a fool.”

 

_Spike laughing with her in the pub a few days before, his head rolling back slightly, looking up at the ceiling, laughing out loud, shaking with merriment, his warm smile almost contorted with glee…_

_Spike looking quite the fool, flushing slightly, clearly thinking on his feet but knowing how ridiculous he must sound as he tried to justify ‘a muscle cramp… in his pants…’_

 

“And if I swallow anything evil…”

 

_Spike flinching and crying out, his hands flying up to clasp the sides of his head, a split-second after his fist made contact with her face._

 

“…put your fingers down my throat.”

 

_Spike kidnapping an Initiative doctor with Harmony in a desperate attempt to get the chip out of his head. And now, Spike hoping that if anything like that ever happened again, someone would be there for him._

 

“If I shiver, give me a blanket…”

 

_Spike frantically knocking on Mr Giles’ front door, smouldering beneath a blanket, shaking with hunger and fatigue, appealing to them for mercy for the first time after escaping from the Initiative. Tara hadn’t been there, but Willow had mentioned it._

 

“…keep me warm, let me wear your coat.”

 

_Spike’s eyes widening in shock, not the quirky eyebrow when he was amused, confused or intrigued, but genuine surprise as she quickly unbuttoned her shirt and tore it off her back, tying it around his arm. His lightning fast change of reactions, first following his surprise with a leer, suppressed a quarter second later as he resolutely turned his back. And then, a true gentleman, when he had wrapped her up in his trenchcoat and refused to allow her to take it off._

 

“No one knows what it’s like…”

 

Spike’s voice quietened down again, and he pulled right back on his strumming. His eyes were still closed, his head now bowed between phrases, lifting it only enough to reach the microphone. The whole venue had gone deathly silent, all staring at him, completely entranced. Tara didn’t notice she was holding her breath.

 

“…to be the bad man…”

 

_Spike, standing in the middle of a road, late at night, his hair perfectly arranged, his long black coat blowing in the wind, as various demons move closer to attack him, then think better of it and back off again._

 

“…to be the sad man…”

 

_Spike looking straight at her, a haunted look on his face, but also appearing concerned, his hair a scruffy mess, as it had been the other night after the demon attack, a plain black t shirt making him appear a rather diminutive figure, an image so different from the previous one that she found it hard to believe they could be the same person._

 

“…behind blue eyes.”

 

As he sang that last phrase, his head came up, and he opened his eyes. Tara gasped and nearly dropped her drink. Spike’s eyes were a piercing blue, deep as the sea despite the light colouring, and more beautiful than she had ever imagined. She had, of course, seen them before, but it didn’t feel like it. She had heard people talk of seeing into each others’ souls before, but never experienced it, not like that. She felt almost naked as his eyes swept across the crowd, lingering on her for a second. She thought his vampire senses might have heard her gasp, but those next to her had not, it being lost beneath thunderous applause.


	5. Chapter 5 - Living After Midnight

**Chapter 5 – Living After Midnight                                                  ** _Immediately after_

 

Turning back to the bar, Tara caught the barman’s attention, ordering two bottles of lager. As she paid, she kept her eye on the figure slowly making his way through the crowd towards her, guitar still in hand, having jumped to the floor from the stage. He had his coat on again, _and he must be boiling in that crowd, wearing 3 layers._ He slowly managed to squeeze through the people all around him, many of which were complimenting him on his performance, and he was grinning ear to ear.

 

He finally reached her at the bar, coming to stand beside her, still grinning, and she handed him one of the bottles and wondered how she could encourage him to open up to her, but not push him into it. His eyebrow raised in pleasant surprise, but he nodded thanks and accepted the drink without question. He took a deep swig, tipping his head back, setting the bottle back on the bar before it could bubble over. He then pulled off his trenchcoat, wrapped it around the guitar, and handed the guitar to the barman for safekeeping.

 

“I didn’t know you could play,” she said as they headed over to the seating area.

 

“Not touched it in years,” he confessed. “But it’s been so long since they had a decent band here, and I haven’t had much luck with poker recently, so I thought why not?”

 

Tara nodded, and they both flopped down onto a recently vacated sofa, which, as sofas tend to do, pushed them together into sitting rather closely. She was aware of his leg pressing gently against hers, and wondered if he’d noticed it too. _Probably, he doesn’t miss much._ But he hadn’t done anything about it, just taken another swig of his beer. Amicable silence followed for a short time, and then Spike spoke up.

 

“Not here with friends, then?”

 

Because of the way they were sitting they’d be inches from each others’ mouths if they talked face to face, and so they both looked ahead, absently watching the dance floor while they conversed.

 

“I don’t really have many these days… I sort of, uh, lost contact with a few people when I moved in with Willow, I mean, I shouldn’t have done, but…”

 

“That happens, pet,” he told her. “You get closer to someone, and others get further away. That time a few days ago was the first time I’d properly seen Dawn in months. We used to be pretty close, but I’ve not really spent much time with her since Buffy and I started, uh…”

 

“…Shagging like rabbits?” Tara suggested, turning her face towards him just enough that he could see the corner of her mouth being pulled up into a wry smile.

 

“Dunno about that. I’ve yet to see rabbits that, erm, kinky.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure they exist,” she assured him, “it takes a lot to terrify Anya.”

 

Spike gave her a puzzled look, but nodded in acceptance.

 

“Poor girl,” he mused. “She really didn’t deserve that.”

 

“No one does.”

 

Spike conceded the point, effectively summarising it with “Jesus, Harris is a tosser.”

 

Tara said nothing. Xander had always been nice to her in the past, and she didn’t like to speak ill of anyone, particularly Willow’s friends. But Anya really had suffered. He had abandoned her. In public. In her wedding dress. Even after a few days, Tara still couldn’t quite get her head around it.

 

“Hope she’s alright,” he said softly.

 

“She’ll be ok. She’s made of pretty strong stuff. Willow would never admit it, but I think Anya intimidated her a little bit.”

 

Spike snorted quietly in amusement, and looked like he was about to respond, but then dropped his gaze to the bottle in his lap and drank some more. After a moment’s thought, he tilted his head her way and spoke softly.

 

“So if you’re on your own, why did you come here tonight?”

 

Tara blushed a little and looked down self-consciously, all too aware of her clothes. She had come here this evening to get away, to escape and to have a good time. _Not in that sense!_ But just to let her hair down a little, and because she knew if she spent the night at home, she’d never stop thinking about Willow.

 

So here she was, in her greeny turquoisy corset with the embroidered gold bits, and a long black skirt, much silkier and sleeker than she usually would have worn. She’d even gone a little heavier on the makeup than usual, she wore eyeshadow of the closest colour she could find to match her corset, and fleshy pink lipstick. She had even found a half-nice pair of black shoes, with restrained heels since she wasn’t much good at walking in them.

 

“And you should dress like that more often, pet,” Spike added.

 

She blushed far more intensely, grateful that he couldn’t see her face at that angle.

 

“I, uh,” she began, suddenly rather nervous, “Thanks. Do you really think so? I-I don’t think it suits me.”

 

Spike moved to very obviously eye her up and down, pausing to leer in certain places, she turned even rosier and crossed her arms over her breasts, suddenly aware of the view he was getting slouching next to her.

 

“Wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t, love. Does suit you, actually. Bit surprising, but then I always thought… Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”

 

_Somehow I find that hard to believe._ She really couldn’t see herself ever getting used to it, the fancy clothes just weren’t… her. She was quite happy to look smart for work, but dressing up for social events was scary, and uncomfortable, and best avoided. _So why did I do it this evening?_

 

“I, uh, I don’t really know actually. I-I just had to get out for a bit. And I… I felt like looking smart… I don’t know why.”

 

“Seemed a good idea at the time, and you acted on it without thought for the consequences?”

 

“Something like that,” she said with a smile. Spike nodded approvingly, seeming pleased with himself as well as with her.

 

“That’s my girl. Guess I’m a bad influence on everyone.”

 

Tara felt her smile deepen, tugging at the corners of her mouth. He might even have had a point, she’d never have acted that boldly even a few weeks ago. Whatever insecurities about the goodness of his heart that Spike had deep down, the confidence he exuded seemed to be contagious.

 

It was then that her inner struggle to find a way to bring up his poetic nature reached a conclusion: she couldn’t. There was no way she could mention it in the conversation, no angle she could approach it from, that wouldn’t completely ruin the magic they had experienced a short while earlier when he had been on stage. When he had been singing, she understood. And when that look had passed between them, he’d known it. She was already certain herself, so why did she need to bring it up? She leaned in closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. He didn’t seem to mind.

 

“I am, you know.”

 

Spike looked down at her enquiringly, his expression suggesting that he was pondering the meaning of her words. And then his raised eyebrow said that he was intrigued, but had given up.

 

“Yours.”

 

He smiled. Spike’s arm slipped around her shoulders, and she snuggled against him, her head still on his shoulder.

 

“I’d never have got through these last few weeks without you,” she told him, both of them still looking straight head.

 

“Yeah you would’ve,” he assured her, “Anya isn’t the only one to be made of pretty strong stuff, you’re steel compared to her. But thanks. Anyway, here we are now, we can stay here in the shadows all night if you want. Or…”

 

Spike gently unwrapped his arm from around her shoulders, and slowly stood up. He looked down at her sitting there, offered her his hand, and put on a deep voice with a thick Germanic accent.

 

“Come with me if you want to live.”

 

As seemed to happen so often recently, Tara grinned at him, and Spike’s face split into an answering one. She took his hand, and he pulled her to her feet, leading her into the crowd of people, heading towards the bar. After Spike’s performance, the resident DJ had taken over, playing light rock-type stuff. She asked Spike what he had in mind, knowing that he’d be able to hear her over the music, but he just looked back at her with a ‘trust me’ expression.

 

When they reached the bar, her standing next to him, he pulled her close and whispered in her ear. Well, actually spoke quite loudly in her ear to be heard, but it was private enough to serve as a whisper.

 

“What I have in mind is a few shots each of courage, and then… then we’re gonna do something special, something I’d never do ordinarily, but you all dressed up is too good to pass up.”

 

Tara turned her head slightly, her eyebrow arching at him. _That sounds… ominous._ But then she remembered that she trusted him fairly implicitly, and he knew her well enough to avoid picking an activity she obviously wouldn’t enjoy. So she shrugged at him and smiled, calmly accepting whatever he had in store for them. He handed her a shot glass, she raised it to her lips and downed it. It still burned, but it was nicer than she expected.

 

Spike watched her curiously as she did so, his eyebrows climbing in surprise. She looked at him questioningly, and he smiled and handed her another.

 

“You didn’t pull a face. Not at all. Gotta say, love, I’m impressed.”

 

She laughed and downed the next shot. This one wasn’t so nice, but she thought she still managed to keep a straight face. Spike kept smiling, and handed her the last one. It was green.

 

She tipped her head back and swallowed it in one, and instantly regretted it. This one seared, and it took all her concentration to control her gag reflex. She was sure it must have shown on her face as well.

 

“Yeah, no one likes that one,” came Spike’s comment, “but Hell, you kept it down.”

 

As Tara made a mental note never to drink anything green again, Spike set his empty shot glass down on the bar, and then offered her his hand.

 

“Where to?” she asked, placing her hand in his.

 

“The scariest place on Earth,” he said with a not-entirely-pretend shudder. “The dance floor.”

 

Tara’s eyes widened in something that felt very much like horror. Dancing was something she could very occasionally get by at, but most of the time completely sucked. Spike noticed, and squeezed her hand gently, reassuring her.

 

“Relax, it’ll be fine.”

 

“I, uh… I really can’t dance.”

 

Spike’s eyebrow raised, a faintly amused cast to his face.

 

“So the vampire all in black with a big bad reputation to maintain will face the dance floor, but you won’t? Come on. What’s the worst that can happen?”

 

“Uh, I-I make a fool of myself.”

 

They had halted now, standing on the edge of the crowd of dancing people, and were face to face.

 

“First off, no you won’t, it’s easier than you think. Secondly, I’m here with you, and I won’t let you. And thirdly, who cares? No one here knows you, you can behave however you like…”

 

With that, he led her right to the centre of the floor, then turned to face her again.

 

“Just nod your head to it, pet,” he whispered to her, and she followed his example, bobbing her head with him, following his lead as his body swayed side to side, slowly at first, turning with her. As she relaxed, Spike brought his arms into it more, and she copied. It wasn’t so bad really. She still got nervous whenever she noticed someone looking at her, but the rest of the time she just let herself enjoy the music, knowing that if she looked stupid dancing, so did Spike, as he was doing exactly the same thing. _And he really doesn’t look stupid doing it, quite the opposite really…_

 

A couple of songs later, a slightly rockier one came through the speakers, and Spike cocked his head on one side, listening.

 

“The Donnas, I reckon,” he said in her ear. Tara looked at him in puzzlement – it really didn’t sound like the sort of thing Spike would listen to, sure, there were big loud guitars and stomping drums, but it was happy, and the singer sounded like a high school girl.

 

“Highlight of Dawn’s record collection,” he explained, “this was about all she owned involving real instruments, so I heard it a fair few times.”

 

Tara had a sneaking suspicion that repeated listening to the song had made it grow on Spike more than he’d care to admit. It did have a really good beat though, and soon they were both dancing more energetically than before, shaking their heads, her hair flinging around.

 

She was enjoying herself, she realised. Dancing, and actually enjoying herself. She’d never before had the confidence to really let herself go like that; Spike claimed to have been a bad influence her, but she thought he’d really helped. She still felt safe there with him, even in the middle of the room where lots of people could see every move she… _Ok, don’t think about that, just try to forget about the other people here!_

 

She was enjoying herself so much that the song seemed to be over much too quickly, and the next track was much tamer and quieter. She was intrigued to learn that she found that disappointing, what she wanted was more loud, heavy, grab-you-and-not-let-go music. _Maybe he has been a_ tiny _bit of a bad influence_ , she mused, thinking back to her own rather subdued record collection. Well, except the band they’d found a shared liking for the other night, but she didn’t often listen to Alice Cooper at home.

 

From the look on his face, Spike didn’t approve of the latest song either. In fact, he looked decidedly unhappy about it.

 

“Think I’d better have a word with the DJ.”

 

He looked around briefly, located the DJ, and took a step in that direction, then stopped and looked back at Tara, offering her his hand. She took it, and he led her out of the crowd, and up the small steps to the DJ’s desk. Spike bellowed something at the poor man, and Tara only caught the more emphatic phrases.

 

“Loud…decent…Sex Pistols…enough of this nancy-boy quiet shite.”

 

The DJ finally nodded in acquiescence, and they headed back down to their former spot in the middle of the dance floor, starting to dance again, but with Spike glaring around as if the current pop song was personally intended to annoy him. She reached out and caught his hands, and he looked at her in surprise.

 

“It’s only a song,” she said gently, looking him right in the eyes. He looked back, holding her gaze, looking deep into her eyes, as she stared into the heart of his own, so very blue. _And he’s so breathtakingly beautiful…_ His fingers had entwined with hers, and they stood facing each other, neither now consciously moving to the music.

 

And then she knew, and there was no more thought. Once the decision had been made, seemingly for both of them at the same time, that was it. Their heads moved slowly closer, leaning in and tilting slightly, and their lips met in a single kiss. Spike’s lips were harder than she was used to, not to mention that he was taller than most girls. These were the idle thoughts that flickered across her mind in a kiss that seemed to last a very long time.

 

They very slowly peeled apart, and stood looking into one another’s eyes again, with only a few inches between them. And they were both smiling. Out of the corner of her eye, Tara was glad to see that everyone else was still dancing, not staring at them. In fairness, she’d seen numerous girls and guys kissing on the dance floor at the Bronze before, and, _wow, I’m one of them… weird!_ She absently noticed the song drawing to a close, and the drum beat of the next one fading in, followed by a rather cheesy guitar riff.

 

Spike’s eyes suddenly widened in surprise, and he groaned audibly. _Oh God, what did I do?!_ His head whipped around to the DJ’s desk, and Tara only just found the DJ herself with her eyes in time to see him wink at Spike, provoking him, but only light heartedly. Spike turned back to face her, disentangling his fingers from hers to take his head in his hands.

 

“W-What is it sweetie, what’s wrong?”

 

Tara was starting to panic now, everything had been going so well, had she just ruined it all? He lifted his head slightly to peer at her from between his fingers, then slowly lowering his hands.

 

“The DJ’s definitely evil,” he whispered in her ear. _Huh?_

 

The first line of the song came through the speakers, in a low male voice.

 

‘On the floors of Tokyo…’

 

Spike gnashed his teeth and clenched his fists at his sides, then wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close against his chest. She rested her head against him and enveloped him in her arms too, trying to comfort him. He leaned his head back, and shouted to some unseen point on the ceiling.

 

“Sodding Billy Idol!”

 

*

 

It seemed strangely familiar, walking with Spike back to her dorm, when neither of them was entirely sober. It wasn’t until the vampire got caught up in his coat and stumbled that she remembered the last time it had happened, after they had been to the pub, which, after tonight, now seemed a lifetime ago. Again they occupied themselves by singing their lungs out, only this time it was in harmony. Ok, sort of harmony, the closest they could manage.

 

As the walk slowly sobered them both up, they got better at the singing and worse at the wanting to. But they still seemed very focused on frequently stopping for long kisses, and when walking Spike had his arm slung around her shoulders, and Tara had hers around his waist. _And not just to stop him falling over!_

 

It was during one of these kisses that they heard a voice from a short distance ahead of them, and turned to see a figure stepping out of the shadows, and though his face was still silhouetted, they could clearly make out the knife he was brandishing at them, its blade gleaming softly in the moonlight.

 

“I think you two should share the love,” he growled. “Or at least the money. How about you hand over that pretty handbag of yours, darlin’?”

 

Tara’s heart began to race, realising only then that she was much too inebriated to do any magic. Spike thrust himself in front of her, positioning himself as a shield, and barked at the man with a distinctly untactful “sod off.”

 

In her significantly sozzled state, she only just caught Spike’s low whisper that the mugger was human, and therefore untouchable with the chip. Not wanting anyone to get hurt, Tara pulled off her handbag and held it out nervously past Spike’s protective form.

 

“No,” he told her, pushing her arm back down to her side, “there will be none of that.”

 

“I think you should listen to her,” their assailant advised, starting to slowly circle them, placing his feet carefully, gradually advancing.

 

“Go home,” Spike instructed. Tara looked up at him in surprise, there was no way she would just leave him here. But Spike wasn’t looking at her, and she realised he’d actually been talking to the other man, proceeding to add further warnings.

 

“This conversation is heading rapidly towards you going home in an ambulance…”

 

She didn’t quite know how Spike could act so confidently, so defiantly, when he knew that he was unable to defend himself, should the mugger strike. The two of them were still losing ground to the man with the knife, being slowly driven back to stay out of its reach. The man suddenly lunged at Spike, his blade flashing out, but the vampire danced back, evading its path.

 

“You’re making me hungry, friend,” he informed the man in a very quiet voice, “you wouldn’t like me when I’m hungry.” At the best of times, Spike moved quickly, but this time, particularly viewed through beer goggles, he seemed to blur and instantly appear elsewhere, six inches from the man’s face, his forehead contorting and his fangs popping out. The man almost dropped the knife in fright, leaping backwards and coming up against the wall.

 

Spike smiled at him, and it was a terrible sight. An image she once read somewhere suddenly sprang to mind, of how a lion in a cage appeared cute and comical, so out of place with its surroundings, but a lion on the open plains was something else entirely. The vampire’s fist lashed out with lightning speed, crunching into the brick wall a finger’s width from the man’s head. That was apparently the final straw, and their would-be assailant broke and ran, as fast as his legs could carry him.

 

Spike watched him go, cursing quietly and shaking his fingers out after their impact on the bricks. He still had his fangs out, and those horrible ridges scarred his forehead. Suddenly Tara felt a lot more sober.

 

“I get it now,” she said, her voice shaking. His eyes, a burning gold, flashed up and locked with hers. For the first time, Spike scared her. But she wouldn’t stop, she knew she had to keep talking now she’d started.

 

“I realise what it is the others see when they look at you. You would have killed that guy if you were able to, and not regretted it afterwards. I understand why they don’t trust you. I see it now. You’re a vampire.”

 

As she spoke, she saw Spike’s face slowly fall, emotions fluttering across it. His mouth crept slightly open, and she could see the hurt deep in his eyes. Unable to hold his gaze any longer, she turned and fled, tears springing to her eyes.

 

She ran, not looking back, hoping he would give her the space she needed and not follow. _All that humanity I saw in him… where did it go?_ Once his demon had surfaced, the rest had disappeared without a trace. Stumbling around a corner, she knew it was only a matter of time before she tripped and fell in her heels, restrained though they were. She kicked them off and scooped them up, then started running again, the pavement cold and solid beneath her bare feet.

 

She kept running, using the pain building up inside from running to drive all thoughts from her mind. After a few minutes, she felt the first drops of rain on her shoulders, swiftly followed by more as the sky opened up. Soon she was drenched to the skin, her clothes clinging to her as she ran, knowing that to keep going was the only way to counteract the stinging chill of the cold rain.

 

At last, the stifling agony in her lungs caught up with her, and she stumbled and fell, collapsing onto the rain-beaten concrete. She felt the cold setting in bone-deep as she blacked out.

 

When she came to, it seemed only moments had passed, but things felt different. She was being carried, a strong arm supporting her back, and another under her legs, which were bent at the knees. She forced open her eyes, immediately meeting another pair looking down at her, ever so blue. She was in Spike’s arms, and, glancing around, was wrapped up in his trenchcoat as he carried her. The rain still fell.

 

“Spike, put me down.” Her voice sounded hard to her own ears.

 

He didn’t respond, only lifting his eyes to look ahead, watching where he was going. She tried again, raising her voice.

 

“Spike, put me down.”

 

“I’m carrying you home, before you collapse again,” he told her without looking back down at her, his voice equally clipped.

 

“Put me down, _now!_ ” There was iron in her voice like she had never heard before, and the blond halted, setting her down on her feet, turning away and swearing vehemently under his breath. She distinctly caught the word ‘ungrateful.’

 

“I’m not trying to be ungrateful!” She hurled the words at him, her voice breaking, on the verge of tears.

 

“I just… I thought you’d changed… thought you had feelings… had a conscience, whatever anyone else said. But all that disappeared in an instant, and you were uncaring and animal again.”

 

Spike’s coat billowed out as he spun around and shouted back at her, at the top of his voice.

 

“It couldn’t be less uncaring, you stupid bint! I was trying to protect you!”

 

After a short pause, he calmed, very slightly, and adding with a growl “And if that means going ‘No More Mr Nice Guy,’ then I’ll do it, without hesitation.”

 

With that, she couldn’t hold it in any longer, sank to her knees and broke down, sobbing. Spike knelt down beside her, his arms strongly enfolding her, pulling her close against him. Though he held her tightly, she felt his hand softly stroking her hair, and his voice in her ear was surprisingly gentle.

 

“Glinda, you were good to me when no one else was. You treated me like a genuine person, with feelings and that. You believed in me, and you helped me believe in me. And if that’s not worth killing for, I don’t know what is.”

 

She pulled back to stare him in the face.

 

“And you think that makes it ok?”

 

Tara knew she couldn’t take much more of the argument and got up, setting off away from him at a brisk walk, heading towards her dorm. _I just can’t do this right now, I need to get out of here_. As the rain picked up, she heard his voice call out from where she had left him.

 

“Yeah, I do. No one messes with my girl.”

 

She didn’t look back, but she knew he was following her.


	6. Chapter 6 - Blond On Blonde

**Chapter 6 – Blonde On Blonde                                                         ** _Immediately after_

 

“Come in, Spike.”

 

He raised a scarred eyebrow at her, but did then step through the doorway as she held the door open for him. _I guess after a walk home in silence, he doesn’t really know what to expect._

 

She’d been lost in her thoughts the entire way, trying to get her head around Spike, and what to think of him, and, that decided, how to repair the massive hurt she’d caused earlier. On that last one, she still had no idea. _I called him a monster, but… I’m the one that caused all the pain._

 

“Thanks for walking me home,” she added, meeting his eye and giving him a slight smile. Clearly very puzzled now, he turned away and spoke softly.

 

“Wasn’t gonna leave you out there by yourself, pet.”

 

“I wouldn’t have blamed you,” she replied, reaching out to lightly rest her hand on his back, just below his shoulder.

 

He spun around to face her, a burning intensity in his eyes, and he clasped her hands together in front of his chest.

 

“Christ, what is it with you lot?” he exclaimed. “First the ‘Bit, now you… I told you, I’m not going to leave you by yourself. And nothing you can do is gonna change that.”

 

Somewhat lost for words, Tara merely gazed up at him, taking in the openness and honesty clearly written on his face.

 

“’Sides,” he added in his often heard self-depreciating voice, “you’ve got nothing on the Slayer when it comes to dragging me through the dirt.”

 

He raised his eyebrows a little, adding under his breath, “she does that _literally_.”

 

She reached up to cup his cheek softly, devastated that she too could have hurt him so, desperately wishing that she could take it back. She’d just been so shocked, never having believed in that side of him before, and his ferocity had terrified her. Looking back now, she appreciated that it had been a pretty smart response from him, that any less antagonism towards the mugger might have lead to an actual confrontation taking place, in which Spike, with his chip, would be considerably disadvantaged. _Royally buggered_ , as he would say.

 

She didn’t like violence, not at all. Most didn’t, she supposed. But after this long associating with those who battle the supernaturally evil, she appreciated that it was sometimes, no, tragically often, the only way.

 

“Spike, I’m so sorry, how can I ever explain…” she began, but he cut her off, leaning in and placing a tender kiss on her forehead. She shivered slightly at his touch, and her thoughts froze, for never before had such a chaste kiss seemed so intimate.

 

She hadn’t quite realised that the kiss was over, his face now a couple of inches from hers, looking intently into her eyes.

 

“I get it,” he whispered, and either he was a devilishly good liar, or he really did.

 

Then it hit her; the only way she could make it ok, to prove to him that she was sorry, that she didn’t really think him a monster, would be to show that she still trusted him. True, she’d invited him in, but she didn’t think that would quite be enough to repair much of the damage she’d caused to him. In fact, she could only think of one thing that would.

 

And then Tara did something she never would have believed of herself. Reaching an impressively not-shaking hand up to touch his cheek, she moved closer and kissed Spike. It wasn’t like before, in the club, with time freezing and everything being perfect, this was more intense, more passionate. He showed surprise at first over her sudden advance, but quickly enfolded her in his arms, and soon they were pressed against each other as tightly as they could possibly manage, and still trying to get closer.

 

Tara let out a small squeak of surprise when Spike picked her up in his arms, bending his head down so he could continue kissing her. But within a few seconds he’d carried her to her bed in the corner of the room and set her down again, and moments later had discarded his trenchcoat and was on top of her, kissing her again with renewed vigour.

 

And she wanted him, oh how she did. She nearly jumped in shock when she felt Spike’s, well, spike, rubbing against her, and he broke off, looking at her, concerned, but she only grinned at him and kissed him again. It certainly felt weird, but she absently wondered if that was necessarily a bad thing.

 

Suddenly it hit her – Spike, the way he was all…excited… it was because of her, she had had that effect on him, and… _wow! First time for everything, I guess…_ Could he really find her that attractive? _I’ve never pretended to understand how the minds of men work, but… well, wow!_

 

But it wasn’t enough. She needed to be closer to him, needed frantically to feel his skin against hers, to share the same space with their bodies, and so she kissed him more fiercely. And as clothes started to come off, for the second time that evening, there was no more thought. But this time, it lasted a _lot_ longer.

 

*

 

It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the darkness when she awoke, but instantly she knew something wasn’t right. Something in the air smelled different, she faintly recognised it, but it wasn’t a scent she’d encountered in a while. Someone was here, in the room with her, and they smelled dangerous.

 

Her hairs standing on end slightly, she silently rose from her bed with a stately grace, and indulged herself in a couple of drawn out stretches. Well, it was all very well being stealthy, but within reason, no intruder was important enough to make her forego stretching. Effortlessly treading softly to avoid making any noise, she made her way over to the other side of the room and leaped up onto the bed.

 

Two bodies lay there, snuggled closely together, but one of them was cold and still, the cause of the hostile scent she had sensed earlier. She crept in closer, keeping low to the bed. The blanket wasn’t pulled up far, exposing a bare chest, and she inched closer. The other form in the bed was her usual companion, and seemed perfectly comfortable, but this new one was dead. There was no smell of blood or decay, but no heartbeat either, no movement and no body heat, making it of no use for keeping her warm while she slept.

 

Faster than she could have believed, something shot out from beneath the covers and grabbed her, a strong grip around her back, pinning her firmly but not painfully to the bed. She let out a piercing cry of surprise and desperately tried to attack the thing holding her down, swiping at it but unable to reach it this way up. She writhed around trying to escape, but all to no avail.

 

Tara had been awakened by her cry, and she sat up, startled, trying to see what was going on in the dark room. In response, she hissed and continued to struggle for all she was worth.

 

“Friend of yours?” came a man’s voice, and she squirmed around to see the other occupant of the bed now sitting up, white hair reflecting in the moonlight.

 

Drawn by the hissing, Tara spotted her, and scooped her up, holding her tightly against the girl’s chest.

 

“Miss Kitty, what are you doing up here?” she chastised gently, stroking her in an effort to calm her. As always seemed to happen when she was stroked, she quickly relaxed, settling down and contenting herself with fixing a steely stare on the man she now recognised. _He was at the old house… He was dead even back then. I knew that scent was familiar._ She also remembered that he had never been considered a threat back then, but he had never taken the time to pay special attention to her either, which was almost as bad.

 

“You keep a cat in here?” he asked, clearly surprised.

 

“It’s not ideal,” Tara responded, “but just until I can find a place a bit bigger. Did she wake you?”

 

The man favoured Tara with a smile, then shifted his eyes to gaze out of the window.

 

“Occupational hazard, I’m pretty hard to sneak up on. Think I startled her more than anything though.”

 

There was only so much petting Miss Kitty could take without a purr beginning almost unconsciously, and she relaxed further, partly closing her eyes as Tara continued to make a fuss over her. As she should. Miss Kitty didn’t really like it here, unable to go out, but as long as Tara was here and devoted plenty of time to her, it was acceptable.

 

Other than her own purring, there was silence for a while. Neither of them had gone back to sleep, they just sat there, not saying anything. It was the newcomer who eventually broke it, but he spoke softly, turned slightly towards Tara, but not looking directly at her.

 

“What made you change your mind?”

 

Tara’s reply wasn’t immediate, she kept quiet for a while. She clearly knew what he meant, but was trying to decide how to respond.

 

“I remembered the song,” she said in a near-whisper, “‘But my dreams, they aren’t as empty… as my conscience seems to be.’ And I thought there might be hope for the poet yet.”

 

“Poet?” he enquired sharply but not harshly, his eyebrow raising.

 

“Oh come on,” she replied with a smile, “I guessed your little secret.”

 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he snorted.

 

“Oh right, so that song of yours just wrote itself?”

 

“Not my song,” was his clipped reply. “I didn’t write it.”

 

Miss Kitty Fantastico looked up and saw Tara looking at the man, her face falling, her mouth slightly parted, and something glistening in her eyes, something between disbelief, hurt and disappointment, with a slight trace of betrayal. The man turned his head away bitterly, staring out of the window again with a hard-set jaw. After a few moments his face softened, and if the cat didn’t know any better, she would have thought she could smell slight fear, more like nervousness, coming from his direction.

 

His whisper was still clearly audible to her ears, but Tara must have only just caught it.

 

“…I never wrote anything as good as that.”

 

He turned back to Tara, enfolding his body towards her slightly.

 

“Couldn’t really lie to you, pet, ‘specially not right after we…”

 

He drifted off, and Tara looked up at him with worried expectancy.

 

“As I said, ‘s not my song,” he clarified in a stronger voice. “But once upon a time I really was a poet.”

 

He looked away again, not in anger but in idle musing, briefly slipping into a memory. His eyes on nothing in particular, the faint traces of a smile appeared on his face, and he muttered under his breath.

 

“…Nothing good rhymes with lungs…”

 

He turned back to Tara and smiled more fully.

 

“So who wrote the song then?” Tara asked him, snuggling up closer to him and leaning her head on his shoulder, laying Miss Kitty down between them. She sniffed the man warily, but decided that warmth, comfort and sleep were most important, and settled down, still purring, and still listening to their conversation.

 

“Oh it’s an old song by the...” he cut off, as a yawn interrupted his speech, which he remembered to cover with his hand slightly too late. Tara didn’t seem to mind though, she was still smiling at him now he’d come clean with her. Having finished yawning, and Tara having finished copying him, as has a tendency to happen with yawns, he seemed to have forgotten that he had been talking, and Tara gently prompted him.

 

“The who?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“What?”

 

“The Who.”

 

“The what?”

 

“No, The Who. Saw ‘em at Woodstock, ’69. I’m not so inclined, but if ever there was a reason for suicide, that was it.”

 

Tara looked like she at last understood what he meant, and she nodded, but kept quiet, clearly not yet understanding why that was a motivation for suicide, but hoping he would clarify.

 

“They’d been playing for nearly two hours, starting at 4 AM. And then they cut right back to a quiet bit, just one soft voice begging for acceptance, and right on cue, the sun came up. Half a million people enjoyed it, and I was stuck under a blanket at the time. Never wanted to be able to stand in the sunlight as much as I did right then.”

 

Tara still said nothing, but she stretched upwards to his face and placed a soft kiss on his cheek, then shrinking back down to lay her head on his chest. Were he anyone else, she’d have been able to hear his heart beating.

 

The silence stretched onwards, but neither of them looked uncomfortable. As least, not at first. But then, as Miss Kitty glanced around briefly, she noticed the flashes of agony appearing on the man’s face, accompanied by the steadily growing resolve showing in his jaw, as if he were steeling himself to do something he terribly painful. Tara had clearly noticed something was up when she felt his chest gradually starting to move, beginning to breathe.

 

“You need to get back with Red,” he said suddenly, his voice filling the room as he forgot to talk quietly. She looked up at him in surprise, and from her expression, it looked like for the last few hours she’d completely forgotten Willow existed.

 

“Go find her, don’t say anything important, just take her back, leave the talking ‘til afterwards, gives things a chance to sort themselves out. Like this, see?”

 

Tara continued to look at him, and Miss Kitty couldn’t tell what the girl was thinking. Her expression seemed to be questioning why the man would say such a thing.

 

“She’s the girl that came along and changed your whole life. Changed who you were, and who you wanted to be. And that special girl… she loves you. That’s gotta be worth a second chance, hasn’t it?”

 

Tara nodded to herself almost imperceptibly, then looked at him again and pursed her lips slightly.

 

“I won’t say you should try to get back with Buffy…” she said after a pause, “In time, something good might come out of it, but not while she’s in such a dark place.”

 

In a manner very reminiscent of the other, she looked off to one side, grinned ruefully and recited a passage from memory.

 

“Maybe someday the sun’s gonna shine, flowers will bloom and all will be fine. But nothing will grow on this burnt, cursive ground, ‘cause the breath of the death is the only sound.”

 

She looked right into his eyes and lowered her voice, but not too quietly for him to have to struggle to hear.

 

“But I will say she’s a fool. You’re worth so much more than the way she treats you. You deserve to be loved, Spike.”

 

The dead man smiled and pulled her closer to him, embracing her and closing his eyes. A faint scent of unshed tears drifted through the air, but she couldn’t tell which one of them it came from, if not both. He held her that way for a long time. Miss Kitty noticed that as he’d moved closer to Tara, he was careful not to cause any discomfort to her divine self, curled up between them. _Maybe I could grow to like him…_

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

_“So the lovebirds are flying again…”_

 

 

 

 

 

 

_“Let yourself love me…”_

_“Your shirt…”_

_“Here we are now, entertain us…”_

_“I tried to cut it out…”_

_“I think it’s safe to say school’s out for bloody summer...”_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The End.


End file.
